


Step by Step

by ThirteenSocks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcoholism, Hospitals, Keith is an amputee, M/M, Past Shadam - Freeform, Psych Ward (Brief mention), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-12-14 03:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 38,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirteenSocks/pseuds/ThirteenSocks
Summary: Shiro is a nurse at the Veteran’s Hospital. A man comes in, cranky and to himself, littered in scars and healing the stump of his left leg where it’s missing mid-thigh. He’s stubborn and insistant on self-sufficiency, despite the tremble in his limbs and poor coordination. Whatever he’s suffered, Shiro knows it’s more than can be seen on his body. And somehow, for some reason, Shiro begins to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major editing will begin 4/24/2020.

The hospital is quiet at this time of night.

It’s just the beeping of machines and whatever noise Shiro makes as he fiddles with the desk. He’s the only nurse there right now and all the patients are asleep.

The long term care ward is his favorite ward to be station because it lacks the high-strung nature of the trauma ward and he gets to know his patients here.

A loud thunk sounds out from the room directly across the desk.

It’s his new patient, a man who had shown up missing most of his left leg. Beyond just the leg, there scars raised all over his body. The one that had cut over his shoulder and down his back was particularly hard to look at; the skin around the wide scar was puckered and red.

His attitude was callous like those scars. He was a bit of a spitfire and stubborn to a fault. 

Keith, the chart had said, who had never spoken to Shiro, has been one of the most challenging patients he’s ever had.

He’s waiting still for the stump of his leg to heal. Keith has a while to go before they can fit him with his prosthetic. Which means Shiro has a while to go before the man is gone from his charge.

Shiro takes a deep breath as he rolls his chair out from the desk.

He’s not sure the mess he’ll be walking into and he needs to gather nerves for it.

He knocks soft before entering, ”Is everything alright?”

”What do you think?” The man -Keith- is on the floor. He’s working to press up on trembling forearems, muscle probably weakened from his stay unconcious in the trauma ward. He barely lifts his head and gaze to meet Shiro before collapsing gracelessly. He curses.

Shiro chews his bottom lip. 

Not much can make him hesitate but this man is unpredictable and something in Shiro doesn’t want to upset him. Maybe because of the hour, at least that’s what he’s choosing to believe. It’s a better thought than admitting he’s a little scared of this man who is many sizes smaller than him, ”Do you-,” he watches the man try again to pull himself up on shaking limbs.

”-Do you want help?”

The man’s teeth are gritting and it’s only when his face smacks the tile again that he acknowldges Shiro spoke. ”Fuck, just- hh, ok. I need to piss.”

Shiro nods and maneuvers to scoop him up, first he threads an arm beneath armpits and then an arm under the backs of knees. He bridal carries the patient to the bathroom. It’s quicker than acting as balance for the man to use his good leg. He’d rather not get pissed on this shift.

It’s clinical for Shiro. The man leans against him and Shiro wraps an arm to steady him from the middle as he relieves himself. The vulnerability bites into Shiro, who remembers the help he had needed when he lost his arm. He can’t imagine what it’s like losing a leg. 

They move over to the sink so the man can wash his hands and Shiro pays careful attention to the man’s shifting so that Shiro’s arm supports him without fail. 

Although Shiro tries to space out, as if not being mentally present will somehow save the man some dignity, he notices it takes a few tries before the soap is successfully dispensed on his hands and the process of lathering is slow and clumsy. The man curses soft under his breath while making visible effort to align his hands beneath the running water. Shiro can see furrowed brows through the reflection of the mirror and the subtle tick of his head to the left. It takes a lot for Shiro to not reach out and guide those hands but the memory of being treated like a child when he was in this position is enough to keep him in place.

”Sorry,” the man whispers gruffly, the flutter of tone on his words suggesting an emotional battle raging within his head. ”I’m sorry,” he repeats as a minute has gone by and he’s only barely gripped the faucet handle to turn it off.

Shiro guides him back to bed. They trip a few times and Shiro knows it’s because the man is trying to speed their pace along, but Shiro holds steady and it’s no big deal if they take a long time. The man has relieved himself so his pride is worth more to Shiro than saving ardor making it to the bed.

”Thanks...?” It’s a low rasp that has honey poured all over it and it bothers Shiro that it bothers something inside him.

”You can call me Shiro.”

”Oh. Ok.” Pause. He shuffles into his blankets. ”I’m Keith.”

”Night, Keith. I’m across the hall if you need.”

Shiro barely hears the soft, ’ok,’ as he’s heading back to the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 2/9/20


	2. Chapter 2

A soft alert pings from the desktop making Shiro set aside his work from classes.  
  


Matt: Psst

Shiro rubs his face with his prosthetic whose metal is cool against his face.

You: We’re not supposed to use this chat for memes, Matt

The three-dot typing icon shows up in the bottom courner then disappears before coming back.

Matt: Lol

You: Ok fine. What’s up?

Matt: I saw you were in that patient’s room for a bit. Everything ok?

You: HIPPA

Matt: Yeah, ok. Omg Mr. Rules. Are you ok though? You’ve been staring at that one paper for a good 5 minutes now.

Shiro raises his head and looks all around the ceiling but there’s no red light anywhere to indicate where the cameras are.

Matt: Ya, you’re not the only one bound to silence by contract.

You: Can you not watch me? That’s...

Matt: No and creepy? Well. You’d be surprised at just how much we’re monitored in the everyday. But I can tell you the patient has behaviors that flagged me to watch him. So, again, you good?

You: Yeah

There’s indication that Matt read the message but there’s a pause before he replies.

Matt: Fuck. Listen, text me when you get off. We’ll grab some iHop. I’ve got a network issue to handle rn

The last hour of his shift he hears it again, the crash from the room. Keith’s room. He pushes slowly away from the desk because there were no screams and Shiro wants to take the time to ready himself.

Keith is on the floor again but he’s closer to the bathroom than last time. He doesn’t flinch or make any acknowledgement that Shiro is there. He goes still.

It’s aching to see the man who is obviously so proud, so resigned, and flat on the lineolium tiles.

”Why don’t you press the call button?” He says it with a chuckle to lighten it. He knows why, but he kind of likes talking with Keith. He wants to hear his voice, it’s like none he’s ever heard before and it draws him in. Shiro finds himself hanging on it when he does get to hear it.

”I need to pee.” His voice is rough with sleep and words muffled as he speaks around the cheek that is smashed against the tile.

Shiro doesn’t know why but he just really likes hearing Keith say things.

He scoops Keith up again and helps him go to the bathroom. In his exhaustion Keith is even more uncoordinated as he scrambles to assist Shiro in picking him up. He leans heavily into Shiro once he’s in his arms. And his body feels warm.

He holds Keith up again, making a point to turn his head and thoughts away as he hears Keith’s fingers fumble with his gown to relieve himself.

Keith sighs contently, filled with relief, as he begins to go.

”Did you sleep ok?” It’s not Shiro’s care style to let his presence be known, especially in moments of what could be considered intimate. But the words come out before he has time to think on it. He just really wants to hear Keith’s voice.

”Yup.”

The shortness of the answer sends panic through him.

Fuck, why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? He wants to get swallowed by the floor as he holds Keith up to wash hands.

Keith struggles with the soap again and Shiro struggles with not reaching his hands around to help him.

”Just.. Can you just take me to bed? I don’t wanna walk.” His voice is strained and it hurts to hear. Shiro carries him to the bed and gingerly lowers him.

”Thanks.” Keith has a pretty face.

”Yeah, no problem. I’m- My shift is almost over. So, uh, see you tomorrow?” Why can’t he keep his mouth shut? As if Keith has any option in seeing Shiro.

”Ok,” he whispers back, gracious for not pointing out Shiro’s blunder. Somehow his voice is sweeter when quiet. ”Bye, Shiro.”

Shiro texts Matt. They have a lot to debrief on.

* * *

  
He orders eggs, toast, sausage, potatos, and pancakes. Partially to drown himself in the sweet syrup and partially to fuel the intensive workout session he’s going to have to do after this all. Of which has nothing to do with the calorie intake.

”Oh my freaking god, dude. So, he’s got his dick in hand and you’re over there, behind him- pressed flush against him -fucking making small talk?” Matt is cry laughing into his mug of coffee, trying to steal sips between laughs. He bangs his free hand on the table and it rattles their plates and the silverware next to them.

Shiro pokes at an egg, ”He has a nice voice. I was tired.” The egg bursts its yolk and spills all over the potatoes. He brings an elbow to the table and rests his cheek into his palm. He doesn’t move his eyes up from his meal.

”Dude, fuck. No- stop talking - You’re making it worse.” Matt inhales sharp and groans.

”Yeah well I mean. I don’t usually- I was just tired.” It’s hard to talk with his cheek smashed on his hand so it comes out garbled. But he is tired. He lifts his gaze to see a seriousness come into Matt’s usually carefree expression.

”Listen,” Matt sets down the mug, ”I mean. As funny as it is, I gotta say man... You ok? It’s been so long since Ada-”

”-I’m fine!” Shiro nearly flings his forkfull of pancake at Matt. He’s made peace with what happened but it doesn’t mean the thoughts are painless. ”I’m fine,” he says softer, ”Sorry. It’s just- y’know. But I’m ok, really.” He doesn’t want to think about Adam right now. Or anytime soon in the future.

Matt squints at Shiro, probably wanting to drill Shiro further, but years of friendship means he can gleen when it’s time to stop pushing. He stabs his own pancakes and shovels in a large bite.

”How’s Katie?”

”Oh that’s right-,” Matt begins with his mouth stuffed and then holds up a finger to finish chewing when he sprays Shiro with tiny artificial blueberries,”It’s been so long. Well she goes by Pidge now, actually. Cut her hair. You’d be shocked, man. But she’s well. Her and Hunk are on full rides to the ’U for engineering. She definetly takes after mom.”

Shiro loves it when the Holts include him like he’s family. In many ways, Colleen Holt was his mom. Though that also hurts to think on.

”They’re getting ready to intern at NASA. We’re all very proud of them. And don’t tell her but it kinda makes me wish I’d stayed in school too.”

They share a moment of eye contact. They’re both wounded, Shiro realizes, but Matt covers it up with laughter as he always has.

”Oh my god, wait ’til you hear what Lance did though,” Matt launches into a story that’s hard to keep up with. Shiro’s pretty sure he’s not meant to, though. It’s just chatter for the sake of it, so that neither of them go down that path. Not here, not now. Maybe not ever.

Shiro finishes his food, letting Matt weave a tale that would sound like fiction if he didn’t know Lance. The rest of their breakfast goes without mention of anything upsetting. And Shiro spaces out, hearing that sweet, honeyed-rasp play over and over in his head. It helps him make it through their meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 2/9/20


	3. Chapter 3

Settling into his apartment, he can’t help but notice that it’s quiet like the hospital. The subtle hum of electricity, in the heater and fridge, are the only sounds to accompany his footsteps. There aren’t many decorations, either, and what is there is free of dust. It’s sterile. It feels empty.

He sets his stuff down, sorting things into their place. He’s sticky with the sweat of his workout but he’s moving on autopilot; he empties his gym bag into the laundry, rinses out his shaker bottle, and arranges his textbooks and papers on the desk. Only then does he crawl into the shower.

He turns the knobs so the water is as hot as he can handle. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and he thinks and thinks and it makes him scrub more and harder and soon enough his skin is raw and he’s staring down at bright red palms and fingers.

The mirror is opaque with condenscation and that’s maybe for the best.

When he gets ready for bed he turns the fan on despite it being cold. The white noise hushes thoughts long enough for him to sleep.

He wakes up to the ping of his phone a few hours later. He’d silence his phone but he’s always figured that if he’s sleeping light enough to be awoken by it then he probably should be up anyway. It’s saved him from a few nightmares in the past.

”Hnng,” he stretches, phone in hand, sore from the workout.

Matt: ohmg, brain scan

You: ???

Matt: So like I’d elaborate but technically this is all ill E gul

You: Matt you are an awful human being with skewed morals. You must repent.

Matt: You got me there. No but seriously dude. Look over the chart when you get here. Gtg

You: Yeah ok thanks for making me an accomplice in your gross violation of confidentiality but ya go off I guess

Matt: ;P

Shiro peels the covers back and heads into the washroom to splash his face with cool water. It’s late morning now but a thin veil of clouds is keeping the sunshine from overbearing his eyes through the window. The sky between the clouds is a soft blue.

When he checks his phone again there’s another text fron Matt.

Matt: Don’t pretend you weren’t up thinking about him. Shiro, please.

You: oh my god

Matt: Shirmo plz

Matt: pz shirmo

Matt: p z

You: OH MY GOD OK FUCK

Matt: I’m not saying if you called in and asked to come here early that they’d say yes. But Monica called out and they worry about bugging you, that you’re overworked.

You: I thought you weren’t saying that

Matt: I’m not. But you know, if I were I would.

Matt: shermo

Matt: shurmo

Matt: shemu

You: oh my god ok jesus fuck ok god

Matt: Allura just came to the desk right now : )c

”Thank you for coming in, Shiro,” Allura strides quick to meet him, her beautiful hand extended to meet his in a warm handshake.

”Of course, doctor. If I had known you needed me I would have come earlier.”

”Oh, Shiro,” she tuts but her eyes shine genuine. She thinks he neglects himself and fills his time with work to do so. ”Well I’m glad you’re here because you seem the only one able to handle Mr. Kogane. Come, let’s walk while we talk.”

She tells him that Keith, Mr. Kogane, was sent in for his brain scans today. Only the results came back and, ”he’s having... a difficult time processing it,” it being that, ”Well, Mr. Kogane, quite unfortunately, has brain damage,” and it’s reasonible that he’d be upset. ”It’s possible he’ll heal with time. No, almost certainely he will. But,”

They stop in front of Keith’s room. There’s a security guard that has him pinned on the floor beneath him while he’s thrashing with what isn’t being held down. He’s growling for the man to get off him. He visibly notices Shiro and Allura. He cries out, voice strained and chords shredded, ”Shiro, please.”

The words reach inside Shiro and grab him into the room and have him pulling the guard off. Frantic, ”He’s ok. I got it. It’s ok. You’re crushing him!” Shiro is mad in his struggle to free Keith, mind in a country far away, in times far gone, anchored to the room only by pitiful grunts Keith is making.

He’s not sure what the guard is saying, as he’s speaking to Allura, all Shiro knows is that the imminent danger is gone. His vision is unfocused. There’s a sharp, high-pitched ringing in his ears. His head feels like it’s swimming through clouds.

Shocking.

Soft.

But shocking, is the timid press of foreign fingers on his hand. Fingers that are trembling.

Keith.

Keith’s fingers.

Shiro follows them up to an arm, then shoulder, then face, beautiful face, and meets eyes that he hadn’t realized he’d never looked at before. Deep blue, impossible in their darkness, watches back at him with the same daze Shiro feels. Wherever Keith had gone mentally was not too far from where Shiro did.

It’s quiet, when he speaks, quiet because the words must be only for him. Quiet, and broken, and tender. ”You saved me,” it sounds reverent. ”You saved me,” he repeats, ”I- Shiro, thank you.”

Shiro turns his hand over and takes Keith’s, giving it a squeeze. Words are at a loss.


	4. Chapter 4

Explaining to Allura, whom blessedly talked the guard down, is an ordeal. Not because she’s full of judgement. Probably because she isn’t. It’s always hard to go back _there_ especially when the man he saved from torture is his best friend, is his coworker, is a few floors above, and the, ’what if’s, take over and the pictures of him broken float through Shiro’s head. They’re the worst type of ghosts. They’re the ones who never came to pass until he brought them to life.

But the conversation is a storm raging outside the windows of a house right now. There’s something cozy in the room for all it is stuffy. The soft ’skrit, skrit’ of a pencil as its laying impression upon paper may as well be the crackle of fire, if Keith the flame. Whatever Keith is drawing it’s the first time Shiro’s seen the man so alive.

Keith is a strange one. Going from open gratitude back to silence, it was a bit of a whiplash.

This silence though? It’s companionable. Two people lost in their heads, lost in the world together.

”Which branch?”

The thick honey to the gruff rasp draws Shiro over the opposite pole of a magnet. The sound washes through him well before the words do.

”I was in the Air Force,” he watches Keith for any reaction, any sign he could parse more information from, but Keith continues drawing as if he’d never asked the question. ”I, uh-” not many people can make him stumble over words,”-Just made officer. And, well... things happened. I got- I was captured.”

Keith stills his pencil and turns his head towards Shiro. His expression still unreadable but his eyes filled with empathy. It’s almost unnerving how honest the gaze is, how focused on Shiro it is, how sincere it is in its care. Shiro has Keith’s full attention.

Shiro swallows.

Keith doesn’t move, only blinks, slowly.

”It’s hard to talk about,” he continues.

”Then don’t,” Keith looks down at his paper and then back to Shiro, ”It’s ok.”

”Keith?”

”Yeah?”

”Listen, when they discharge you in a few days, I- you shouldn’t go it alone. Promise me you’ll reach out?”

Keith chuckles and it’s startlingly attractive. ”Isn’t that against policy?” But before Shiro can answer he continues, ”I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

”Well I am me and I don’t find it a waste.”

”I’m a fuck up.”

”I think we have more in common than you think.”

”The military couldn’t even straighten me out. Look,” he motions to his leg.

”I see a man who’s still fighting despite,” Shiro taps his fingernail on the metal of his prosthetic.

”I’ll never be like you.”

”Thank god! The world doesn’t need two of me. Please Keith, let me at least try.”

Keith snorts, ”Fine.”

Shiro feels the irressistible tug on the courners of his mouth. He’s smiling and there’s nothing to be done about it.

”Now let me sleep, ok? I’m tired,” Keith pushes his sketchbook off the bed and flops down onto his side. He faces the wall and tugs up the blanket. It’s only a few minutes before he starts to breathe softly, barely audible.

Shiro gets up and collects the sketchbook. He sees his own image, more beautiful than the marred man he sees in the mirror, and closes it and rests it on the bedside table.

_”But,” Allura had said, ”he may never fully recover.”_

He leaves Keith reluctantly and checks back in with Allura. Gratefully, Shiro accepts some work with another patient, one of their easier ones.

It was always surreal going from the military world to the civillian one, from soldier to civillian, and that’s how the rest of his shift feels. He went from the tumultuous world of Keith to the mundane one of administering meds and working on paperwork.

Matt tries pestering him about what happened but Shiro himself isn’t sure.

Matt: Sounds like ptsd dude, losing track of time like that

Matt: I know, I said The Word but damn dude. Aren’t we all tired of hurting?

Matt: Maybe if we say it

Matt: idk, maybe we can start to heal?

Matt: Listen, Shiro. I can see the read stamp. I get it. Don’t... don’t feel you have to reply. I just

Matt: I think it’s time

Matt: And I don’t wanna see you get left behind. That’s not how this works. We’re a team. We were a team. And I’m not gonna leave you behind.

Matt: We have ptsd and it’s time for us to heal

You: Yeah

You: Yeah, I think so too.


	5. Chapter 5

An unknown number pops on his screen with a text. His heart rate heads for the moon and it takes a few times of swallowing for his throat to feel clear. Ever since Matt told him that he’d slipped Keith Shiro’s number, the chime of his phone brought wild thoughts to his head and an embarassing amount of hesitation. Hesitation? Nervousness? Excitement? He opens the text from the preview screen.

???: Hey it’s Keith can you get me?

Shiro sets his phone face down on the counter. He takes a deep breath. He turns it back around and adds Keith to his contacts.

You: Of course. Is everything ok?

Keith: I can’t drive Shiro

He turns it back over and fills a tall glass of water.

’Damnit, Shiro,’ he drags a palm down his face. He thinks being a fellow amputtee that he’d be a little more sensitive. A little more aware of his words.

Of course Keith can’t drive.

Fuck.

Keith: I’m sending you the address now

You: Ya be right there. Gotta throw on some different clothes.

Keith: k

Fuck.

Keith’s apartment is barely an apartment. Barely a studio. It’s a single room with a styrofoam chest serving as a table, if the solo cup and pizza-grease stained plate are an accurate indication of its function. There’s a worn mattress with springs popping out in one courner lying on the floor with several ripped and holed blankets haphazardly strewn on it. Keith is tying off the empty pant leg, leaning against the wall cursing.

”This- fuck- stupid thing,” the movement has him sliding down the wall, which causes him to let it go in order to shimmy upright, making him start over in his efforts to take care of the empty material, ”Fine. Whatever,” he huffs and lets it go. He lowers to the ground with his hand guiding his weight down and crawls over to where the crutch is by his bed, ”Stupid leg.”

Shiro unconciously rubs at his prosthetic wrist. It’s a strange feeling but he’s grateful that it was his arm he lost. At least, if something had to be taken, then he lucked out that that was all. And while he hated the pity, hates the pity, he can barely help the itch he feels to assist Keith.

”Ok I’m ready,” Keith hands Shiro a little card that has an address, date, and place name on it. They’re heading to PT.

Shiro climbs into the car and adjusts the mirrors and everything else to get ready to drive. He plugs in the address to the gps on his dashboard and the soothing voice of the navigator comes on over the speakers. It takes a lot of his will to not jump out and help Keith from the door to car, and to climb in, but he’s holding tight to memories of those who wouldn’t even let him try to feed himself and it’s what helps him keep focus on the car when Keith basically trips into the seat next to him.

Keith doesn’t acknowledge him, seemingly happy to pretend it didn’t happen.

Shiro wants to laugh, not out of humor, but because it’s frustrating how much Keith reminds Shiro of himself. Stripped off all else they’d still always wear their pride.

”Do you like rock?” Shiro turns the radio on to a quiet hum.

”S’ok.”

That has to be the first time Keith’s surprised him. ”Ah?”

Keith seems to be holding on to his opinion. But Shiro waits, silent, for him to share. Just like Shiro, Keith is not wont to let people in, and something as simple as musical taste may as well be a deep secret. But Shiro doesn’t want it to be this way. He can’t have it this way. He won’t ask Keith to tear down every brick of the wall he has around himself, but one, one is reasonible. So he waits.

The answer comes just barely above a whisper, it’s shy of itself, maybe a bit ashamed for whatever reason, ”Country’s ok,” and it bursts the tension.

Shiro turns it to the station without any stall; Keith isn’t the only one who enjoys it.

Shiro drives them to the office. From the radio sing men waxing poetic over the simple lives on farms, the happy small towns, and other light-hearted topics that lift the spirit. It’s hoacky in it’s idolizing; the small town may bring peaceful living to the straight white men seranading about them, but Shiro is would never find a place of easy-living in the same towns. Still the fantasy is nice enough, imagining a small, handsome man in place of the buxom woman, a man he could he hold tight and wrap around, brings a warmth to his chest. And if he sings alongs with words, well, maybe some things are worth singing for.

He reaches over and squeezes Keith’s knee at the chorus.

An action that won’t register until he’s in bed that night and the memory slams him over the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you all for the wonderful support! I wanted to let you know that I’m just very ill right now (I’m stopping an antidepressant I’ve been on for years, and it’s one of the hardest to come off of), so my updates may be slower. I’m additionally a little scatter brained so... I hope I’m not writing nonsense : D;;


	6. Chapter 6

The doctor has Keith work on balance first. Shiro gets why but it still feels a bit cruel. Keith’s between raised bars but each time he stumbles and tries to catch himself on them the doctor tuts and makes him hobble to the end of the bars and start again.

Shiro himself would be challenged to hop around with one leg.

Keith is visibly gritting his teeth and a few beads of sweat are rolling down his face. He falls again but this time he pounds fists into the squishy mats beneath him.

”You did great,” the doctor scribbles something on their clipboard. It feels condescending even though there’s nothing in the tone of voice to suggest it. It’s just always hard when they stand behind their papers as you struggle. But Shiro tries to shove those thoughts away, the thoughts of what he’s had to do in capture and the concealed faces of those that watched him, monitored him, treated him like a machine they were programming to fight their war. But it’s hard when Keith is trembling, trying to pull himself up only to fall, only to have to crawl, like a helpless child, and the doctor won’t so much as flinch.

Keith moves on to resistance bands. It’s at least something they let him do sitting. The band slips from his foot a few times before he’s positioned it correctly but the tension he’s instructed to keep helps it stay on and though Shiro can see the fatigue building in Keith’s muscles, Keith’s able to finish the exercise without incident.

The doctor has Keith take a break. It’s only when those eyes meet his, when Keith manages to utter Shiro’s name through panting, when he crawls to Shiro, face flushed and hair damp with sweat, that Shiro realizes he hasn’t looked away from Keith since they started. But when Keith is on hands and knee in front of him, when Keith has to use the arm rests of Shiro’s chair to pull himself off the floot, and his body is threatening to collapse on Shiro’s, when Shiro can feel the heat radiating off Keith, Shiro decides he’ll invest all his attention into his phone the second Keith begins more exercises. Shiro’s fingers are a death grip, white knuckling the arm rests as Keith insists on chatting like this.

Shiro takes back the biting words he had in his head for the doctor when their return is what gives Shiro his space back.

He busies himself with checking his school e-mail, trying to purge from his head the image of Keith flushed and struggling for breath nearly draped body-to-body with Shiro.

”Thanks,” Keith slurs, cheek settled against the headrest. There’s no doubt he’s going to crash onto his bed and sleep for the next few hours. His gaze is partially hidden through lashes and half-closed lids.

Keith doesn’t make it the full car ride.

Shiro feels warm as he carries the sleeping man back into the apartment and carefully rests him on the mattress.

When Shiro gets to his own place, he too crashes, exhausted in ways different than Keith.


	7. Chapter 7

Matt: psst

You: no

Matt: psssst

You: matt no

Matt:

You: don’t send me blank texts i’m busy stop

Matt:

Matt:

Matt:

Matt:

You: ok fine

Matt:

Matt:so how’s keith

Shiro doesn’t want to answer that. Keith is.. he’s.. fine. Sort of. It’s at once impossible to tell and yet also carved on his sleeve. He’s frustrated with learning how to do things while missing a leg. He’s exhausted. Exhausted from falling over and from figuring out how to use his weight and having to rely on walls and his crutch. He’s mad at himself for not being able to function independently. He’s lonely and still reeling from the shock of it all. The shock of losing his ar-

You: he’s hanging in there

You: I think

Matt: Fair enough. And you?

He hadn’t realized the sun set. The only light in the room is from the screen of his phone. He can’t remember the last time he ate. Did he have an apple for breakfast?

You: Normally I’d dodge this but I can tell you won’t let it go if I just lie.

Matt: Smart man

You: I’m not doing so hot. I’m studying for

You: I don’t even know why actually. Maybe because I just feel like it’s what has to happen. I did the whole military thing. Went to get my associate’s. I’m a nurse tech. Naturally I need to get further degrees, put all that time in the military to get my education. I mean of course, right?

You: That’s why everyone joins right?

You: It has nothing to do with empty childhoods and nothing to come home to. It’s not about being purposeless and worthless and

You: And trying to do anything but be in the same room as myself

You: No wonder Adam left

You: There’re just these ghosts. These ghosts of so many things and I’m so tired of being haunted

You: And

You: And now there’s Keith and purpose but I’m terrified

You: Terrified I’ll break him the ways I was broken.

You: But what if I don’t break him either? What if he wants to stay. What if he wants to be my friend?

You: I can’t place purpose in him. That’s not fair to him. I can’t make him responsible for my mistakes

You:

You: Fuck. See? I’ve known him so short a time and already I’m talking and thinking like

The screen is hard to read through blurred vision. He wipes- scrubs at his eyes. He must have been typing more from muscle memory than seeing where his fingers went. He dares not follow the thought. For being one of inendable dumb courage, the thought has his fingers trembling. Trembling not unlike the way Keith’s do.

Matt: I’m changing the schedule right now. As soon as I’m off I’m picking you up, and we’re going to eat ice cream and pizza and watch shitty B list movies

Matt: Don’t you dare do anything dumb. Give me one hour Shiro

You: Ok

You: Yeah, ok that’s.

You; Yeah. Thank you, Matt. See you soon


	8. Chapter 8

It’s like being 7 again.

The fire in the fireplace is crackling with gusto, filling the air with its sweet scent. An assortment of snacks, from healthy to junk, are spread out in the floor in front of the t.v. Cheesy holiday songs are playing through the room as if Halloween had already happened. Blankets and pillows are stacked neatly beside one another at the foot of the couch. He can even smell cookies baking in the oven.

”Mom put them in,” Matt informs Shiro.

The Holts still live together despite their adult children. As soon as Matt had started seeing the paychecks from the, ’cushy, hospital IT position,’ as he’d called it, he’d invested in expanding their home. Now him and his sister had their own attached place, though Pidge hadn’t been home from university long enough to use it yet.

Shiro breathes in the aroma of Colleen’s Famous Cookies.

Yeah, it’s just like being 7 again.

It’s Matt’s evening but Shiro’s morning so Matt has Shiro make up some coffee while they make some real dinner. The snacks in the living area are, as Matt informed him, ”A teaser.” Shiro pops in a gummy worm regardless.

”Tell you what, dude, the closer we inch to thirty to more I need to coffee to be outside of bed at any hour between 10 and 5,” Matt rolls out the dough for their homemade pizza. It’s American style, goopy mozerella with tomato sauce. ”Y’know, I’ve no idea how you do it. You got the brain, the muscle, and you don’t even need coffee despite all you’re doing.”

Shiro measure out the beans and pours them into the grinder. It may not be a necessity for him but he’ll indulge the occassional cuppa. Something about the smell and taste of coffee just feels like a calm moment but that might be because he holds tight to his memory of visiting Italy and soaking up the atmosphere of cafés there. Quiet in their activity but busy in their emotion, their excitement, adventure, those are the type of days he likes holding on to.

”Well Matt, I keep up with the PT,” he winks when Matt shoots him a look.

”Yeah well even active duty you were still a beast. We aren’t all blessed to gain muscle so easy, Shirogane. We aren’t all genetically disposed to be built like trucks, Shirogane.” The words are grumblings but there’s nothing harsh behind them.

”Watch it Holt, you’re lucky we were the same rank. Holt.”

”Yeah, Shirogane. Repeat that last sentence from, ’we were,’ and emphasis, ’the same rank.’”

Shiro guffaws. Matt’s sass is probably the most grounding thing in his life. He fixes the man up a cup when it finishes pouring.

”Shirogane I swear to God, I see that grin and you need to hold up,” he places a firm index finger in the air, the universal ’give me a dang minute,’ and takes a sip that’s nearly a full gulp, ”Ah- ok. So I’ve been thinking-”

”I wanna make a joke but thinking is actually one of the things you do well.”

”-I have been thinking, ok, can I finish?”

Shiro salutes him.

”Yeah ok. Well, listen. I was thinking, what if you trained me again? Y’know like, like back then?”

”Who’s got those pretty green eyes of yours now?”

”She- Hey. No one. I’m just,” he pauses and flexes an arm. Or he tries to anyway but there’s not much sculpted on it, ”I wanna be fit.”

There’s a slight flicker of pain that flashes across Matt’s eyes but it’s gone as fast as it comes.

Some people like to stay in the feeling, others like distraction. Matt, not unlike Shiro, likes distraction.

”Yeah I guess. Just don’t go getting bigger than me,” Shiro snorts and they move to the living room while they wait for the pizza to finish.

They’re tucked into the pizza when Matt brings up exactly what Shiro feared he would.

”So,” he draws the word out as if to prep Shiro for the bomb he’s about to detonate, ”Keith?”

One word. One, simple word, it ignites the blood in his veins on fire, makes his tounge heavy in his mouth, and his heart beating like a rabbits. Keith. What a fitting name. Soft. Strong. Like the man himself, soft and strong. Strong in a way that goes beyond muscles, though Shiro’s worked training the younger cadets long enough to tell there’s also untold physical strength. Shiro has a feeling Keith will be a sight to see once he finishes his physical therapy.

”Bruh don’t get lost on me there.”

Oh.

”What about Keith?” His gorgeous eyes? His sweet and elusive smile? The furrow in his brow when he’s concentrating on keeping upright. His handsome, elven-like face?

Matt groans and hangs his head in his hands. ”You’re over the moon for him. Shiro- Takashi, you should see yourself right now. You’re... You’re glowing.”

”I- what? I mean. He’s... Yeah, y’know. He’s. Cute, I guess.”

”Bruh.”

”Ok, he’s handsome.”

”And I haven’t seen you like this si- uh. It’s good.”

Since Adam.

Shiro looks at his prosthetic and flexes each of his fingers.

Matt continues when Shiro makes no move to respond.

”I can’t imagine what it’s like. I can’t. But I- we’ve- been to war. Shiro, we’ve had so much happen to us. It feels like Adam is a ghost that follows you, closer than any other thing that haunts you. If we’re gonna move on then... that means letting yourself love again.”

”I’m not in love.”

”No, maybe not now. Maybe not soon. But Shiro, seeing you like this, man it’s like we’re kids again! In a good way.”

It’s like we never went to war, he says without saying.

With the giddiness he feels, despite everything else in the conversation, in his life, he’s hard pressed to disagree. This crush, or whatever he’ll call it, is giving him an energy he hasn’t felt in years. He allows himself to picture what it would be like to hold Keith. To hold him not out of duty, not out of a part of his profession, or even just to assist, but to hold him out of intimacy, out of lo- yeah. It. It’s a nice thought.

”Ok. Suppose I agree. That it’s good. But-”

”No, Takashi. You don’t get it. No ’but’s. Don’t think yourself out of this. You like Keith and, I’m no Keith but, from what I can tell, he’s at least curious about you.”

”Wait, how do you know that?”

”Just trust me, ok? Listen. I love you man and I want you to be happy again. I don’t want you to stop yourself from living. Yeah maybe on the field you were the bravest, unflinching for anything. But we’re not out there. We’re here, home again. And maybe death and violence didn’t scare you, at least not your own or against you, but love does.”

Shiro wants desperately to have a retort to that.

But there isn’t one.

So he grabs and near lifts Matt from the other side of the couch into a tight hug. Not the kind of hug that men have to do in public. The kind of bone-crushing, soul-squeezing hug that hurts as physically as it does emotionally. In the best of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support! I’m still feeling unwell but I’m getting better. I’ll reply to your comments soon ❤️
> 
> Also I’m at crispy-leaf-keith on tumblr if anyone wants to chat


	9. Chapter 9

Some days pass and they have Shiro buckling over the weight of thought. Keith doesn’t have therapy again until the next week and it’s a bigger disappointment than Shiro wants to admit. It means when he’s feeling the itch to see Keith, that there’s no excuse he has that would make it strictly professional.

It’s tempting to let it go. Tempting to dive into his textbooks and fill his brain with enough that Keith leaves his head.

But Shiro’s trying to be more honest and he knows that Keith is going to stay at the back of his thoughts. And he knows that it would be running away to not try and reach out to Keith.

Which is how he finds himself at Keith’s apartment.

”Sorry it’s a bit cold,” Keith says as he shuffles Shiro inside. It’s an understatement, really. It’s freezing. ”I’ll plug in the heater.”

Why wasn’t it on earlier?

Keith lowers himself to the ground by a hand on the wall. He grasps the cord to the unit and tries to plug it into the wall. Only, the prongs keep slipping and he keeps jamming it against the wall. Shiro’s never considered the coordination it takes before.

”Stupid- hh- fucking-,” Keith curses just above his breath and the frustration seems to worsen his dexterity, ”-fucking hand!” Keith smashes his knuckles against the wall with deliberation. ”I can’t even- Look I can’t- fuck. Can you help me?”

He plops down on the floor next to Keith and reaches forward to grab Keith’s hand, the one with the cord, and guides Keith to plug it in. Keith’s hand is equal parts soft and equals parts roughened with calluses. There’s no strict need for Shiro to keep holding but he does, at least until Keith’s hand comes to rest down where his leg would have been.

Wordless, Shiro reaches across and turns the tiny knobs until the heater roars to life.

It’s quiet.

Keith brings his hands to the unit, hovering them close to warm up. Their stiff ness might have also been due to the cold. But Shiro doesn’t ask. And he doesn’t ask why the heater wasn’t on. He doesn’t ask knowing that the reason was probably not the difficulty in getting it running. He doesn’t ask a lot of things.

Shiro finds himself laying on the floor next to Keith and he wants to think it’s weird that they haven’t said anything. Wants to. But Keith is not as blue as he was when Shiro first walked in. His movements aren’t as jerky either. And long eyelashes are starting to bear down on the swells of his cheeks. He must have been cold all night, maybe he didn’t sleep. A pinch of guilt twists in Shiro whom had slept cozy and sound the night before. But Keith’s asleep fast and something in that gorgeous calm on his face has Shiro heading to drowsiness.

He opens his eyes to an empty spot in front of him. It’s strange, he realizes as he comes to, that he fell asleep so fast. Strange he fell asleep at all.

Keith is sitting at the styrofoam case that’s acting as a table. He’s working away, pencil to paper, tongue peeking out the side of his mouth.

”Hey,” Shiro feels bad at the jump in Keith’s shoulders and the scramble Keith does to turn the page. Pink erupts through Keith’s cheeks and highlights the faint spatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose. ”Sorry, didn’t mean to sleep ljke that. Er- or startle you.”

”It’s ok. Guess we were both tired. I, uh, You probably didn’t come here to nap. Sorry.”

Shiro guesses he didn’t.

”It’s fine, Keith. I just wanted to see you. Whatever we did wouldn’t matter. Though I am kinda hungry so, I was was thinking maybe we could grab a bite?”

Keith looks down at the table and replies quiet, ”’M not hungry. But I could tag along.”

Shiro doesn’t think that’s the real problem. The small waistcan by the stove is filled mostly with the empty wrappers of ramen.

Shiro crawls the short distance to where Keith is. He reaches a hand over to clasp Keith’s shoulder and it engulfs the whole span of it. Keith tenatively raises his face and meets Shiro’s gaze. It’s broken and vulnerable. Shiro squeezes.

”Keith, it’s ok to be struggling. I don’t know what you’re going through, not all of it, but I do know that trying to do it all alone is just going to hurt you more.”

He pauses, waiting, giving Keith space to respond. He rubs his thumb along Keith’s shoulder, the junction between it and neck. Keith briefly turns his gaze toward Shiro’s hand.

”I’m here. Ok?”

Keith reaches up and clasps his hand over Shiro’s. His eyes are shining and blinking is slow. Shiro doesn’t want to breathe because breathing is loud and its quick movement and it feels like just about anything will break the air between them. He gulps as Keith blinks down towards Shiro’s lips and then up again.

Shiro breathes because he has to. Because suddenly the room is hot, hotter, far hotter than any plug in heater could make it. Because he’s dizzy. He’s weightless and weighted to the spot. Keith’s lips look soft. Were they always full like this? And oh. Oh. They’re parting. Shiro breathes.

And when did he decide to move? He’s leaning in towards Keith.

As he’s almost closed the gap between them his phone screeches the ridiculous ring tone that lets him know Matt is on the other end.

Shiro and Keith fly apart like someone had flipped the poles on the magnet that had been between them.

”Yo, heya Shi’, so like. I had an idea, right. What if, ok hear me out, I know you’re trying to avoid your feelings and all but, what if, you, Keith, and I all hung out? I mean I have all these rad snacks still.”

Shiro lowers the volume, hoping Keith didn’t hear the first part. ”Yeah, Matt. Funny that, I’m-”

”No excuses! Listen just call Keith now, let’s go. I’ll be at Keith’s in 15!”


	10. Chapter 10

Matt keeps shooting him finger guns and winks when Keith isn’t watching. Which is unfortunately a solid 20 minutes as Keith tucks into the large platter of breakfast that Matt ordered for Keith. Keith had protested at first, saying he wasn’t hungry, and that he was fine. But Matt had insisted in the way that Matthew Holt does, the same way that he had insisted they all go out to eat, the same way he’d insisted Shiro follow his feelings on Keith. Which is to say there’s no way of saying no. Which leaves Shiro having to look his friend dead in the face, that smirk threatening to break off his face. All at once Shiro wants to strangle Matt for interupting what was- well, what he had hoped was going to be a kiss.

But Matt, sweet, loveable, Matt, had no idea that Shiro could smell Keith’s shampoo by the time he had called. No idea that Shiro could count Keith’s freckles from their distance. No idea.

So Shiro lets Matt soak in the false satisfaction of having brought two friends out of their houses and into each other’s presence.

”So, Keith,” Matt looks over to him and clucks his tongue along with delivering an unneccessary wink, ”What do you do for fun?”

Keith kind of chokes on a forkfull but his cheeks are stuffed and puffed already and it’s any wonder how another bite would fit. Shiro scrambles to smack Keith’s back. He swallows with little casuality.

”Huhh- Uh I like to draw.” Keith raises his napkin to his lips but it feels more like a move to hide himself as much as possible rather than wipe his mouth. Which makes sense to Shiro, whom can’t see anything on Keith’s lips.

”Drawing?” Matt cocks his head.

”Yeah.”

”I mean. That’s cool. Just maybe not what I’d expect?”

Shiro takes a long sip of his hot cocoa.

”Yeah.”

”Betchya draw all sorts of cute girls, huh?”

”No?” The raised tone in his voice seems more confusion than question.

”-Boys?” Matt leans over and nudges Keith with an elbow.

”No- I mean-”

”Matt, please. Keith, you’ll have to excuse him. Drawing is really cool, I wish I could learn but I’m so bad that I don’t have the patience. All I do is tinker with stuff.”

Matt scoffs. ”Yeah ok, fine. Just defame my character right in front of my face. Sure. Keith, babe, don’t let this man fool you. When he says ’tinker’, he really means building bikes from scratch.”

Shiro scoffs. If only just to scoff.

Keith on the other hand wips his body to face Shiro, back straight, head lifted. A fire burns bright behind those wide eyes. ”Really?” He says and that’s the youngest Shiro has ever heard Keith’s voice sound. He sounds his age, 22. And Shiro feels strange being reminded of how young they all are.

”Do you like to ride?”

Keith bites his lower lip in and Shiro watches it spring back out like time has slown down.

”Why don’t I take you sometime? I know a place not far from mine where it’s just open space and road.”

Keith is looking at Shiro like nothing else in the room exists. And for all Shiro knows, nothing else does, because Keith is all he can see too.

Until Matt clears his throat.

”Hey guys, so, I’m so dumb. I forgot I had to go to the store. Can I drop y’all back at Keith’s? I’d love to stay but, you know. At least you two can keep going on without me.”

Shiro sighs. At least Keith and him can return to being alo- hanging out.

”Well, Keith. How would you feel if we went o my place? I’m a bit tired for a full ride but maybe I can show you the bikes and we can take a short one?”

”Yeah, I’d like that.”

Shiro could really get drunk on that honeyed-rasp of his.

They get to Shiro’s place. It’s a bit heartbreaking for Shiro that the thought of the riding has Keith’s full attention. While he loves his bikes, they’re his babies, he was kind of hoping to kiss the man. That feeling doesn’t last for long as they enter the detatched garage and Keith lays a hand tenatively on the handlebar on one of them. He’s looking at its frame with reverance.

”Y’ like her? That’s Red. She’s a real rocket,” Shiro chuckles, ”Truth be told, I ended up building her with more Go than I’m used to riding with.”

Shiro doesn’t miss the soft, hissing intake of breath that Keith makes. ”She’s as fast as she looks?”

Shiro smiles and gently moves Keith by his shoulder and climbs on Red. ”C’mon, I’ll show ya. Get on and hold tight.” She has to warm up, it’s freezing outside, but Keith doesn’t saying as he wiggles behind him. Shiro digs his keys from his pocket and starts her up. She roars to life and Keith gasps, throwing arms around Shiro’s waist.

They stay like that, feeling the humming thrum of the engine, powerful and poised, as Red warms up.


	11. Chapter 11

The chill of the air is far too cold for summer but not frosty enough for winter. It nips at the exposed skin of Shiro’s face making him feel alive and present and free. The trees that line the sides of the narrow road are lush with golden and ruby leaves that lie both at the foot of them and on their branches.

He yells back at Keith to hold on; He’s about to take her to her normal speeds, which is to say fast. Faster than any other bike he’s rode or built. Keith’s arms reattach themselves tighter to his waist and Shiro feels like Keith is trying to attach to his back. He revs the throttle and with a great roar they tear down the road.

He has to lean forward to compensate the wind and resistance knocking against them. Any sort of bump to her ride is smooth now. Terrifyingly smooth, like her wheels are sliding rather than gripping. The scenary is a blurr too but then Shiro doesn’t dare pay much mind to it anyways, all his attention is on steering and balancing, and watching straight ahead for the road. Even Keith’s prescence takes wayside to his concentration.

The road is mostly empty which feels comforting and a waste of adrenaline and skill. So when they finally come tail on a car, Shiro decides to really test his skill.

At these speeds any deviation of the wheel can be catastrophic; too sharp a turn, which is unforgivingly small in its margin of error, and the force catapults them off the bike, too quick a turn and too much of that potential energy might fishtail them.

He turns wide around the back of the car ahead, his muscles pulled tight as he fights Red to keep the turn smooth, circular, and even, and his heart races as he’s in the lane opposite side. The car doesn’t seem to want to let him pass. Shiro speeds up and so do they.

He knows Red could easy floor them but he’s not the best rider when it comes to her speeds; he likes to gain his bearings after he gains his speed, not alongside. But the car is is unrelenting and it looks to be his only option.

Especially when he begins to see the tall white of semi ascending from the bottom of the hill.

Gritting his teeth he throws Red once more into gear and holds his breath as tries to marry together her speed and turning.

The semi begins honking its horn. It has too much speed, there’s not enough time for it to slow down. Especially at how fast Shiro is approaching.

With a piercing screech of tires, a shrill cry of horn, and a scream Shiro can’t even hear in his own ears, he turns them at 45° and feathers as best he can, if it can even be called that with the iron strength it takes to keep handle of Red, until they’ve cleared the semi and are in front of the car.

Blood roaring wild in his veins he takes them fast and far away from what could’ve, probably should’ve, been their death.

”Oh my god!” Keith exclaims as he rips off his helmet, sweat flying out of it as it spills his hair. He pumps a fist in the air and whoops, muttering madly about how ”awesome” that was, and, ”Shiro, fuck, you threaded us!” And all manner of adrenaline inspired ramblings. Keith’s face is flushed and beautiful and all Shiro can think about is how worth it this was to see Keith so... alive. ”You said you couldn’t ride!” Keith finally pants out.

Shiro chuckles or tries to but he’s also catching his breath and heartrate. ”I, uh, Y’know. I mean It’s not that I can’t,” _I just know she has a lot more in her than I can bring out of her,_ ”I’m just maybe not her rider.”

Keith shakes his head and slaps a hand against Shiro’s shoulder. It’s small but it grips strong. ”If that’s not all she can do, man, I... I can’t believe the craftsmanship.”

”Oh stop,” Shiro reaches up to squeeze Keith’s hand. The height difference has Keith’s arm extended far for his hand to reach. ”Now I don’t know about you but after that I kinda wanna just laze on the couch.” He says because it’s safer, more casual, than asking Keith to come inside.

”Yeah, I guess I’m crashing a little. But I’m kinda feeling gross.”

Shiro nods in agreement.

He lets Keith shower and gives Keith some of his smallest clothes. They’re still pretty big on Keith but that makes Shiro happier than it should. But seeing Keith in his clothes is doing that anyway, regardless of the fit.

They both settle on the couch and it comes out that they both secretly like trashy romance; books, movies, just in general. So Shiro turns it to the mid-day soap opera. It doesn’t really make sense, given neither of them know anything about the plot, but the thing about those types of shows is that you can know the plot and it still makes no sense. It’s awful. They have a wonderful time.

The day passes too quick but soon enough it’s time to get Keith home.

There’s no kiss, no moment like earlier, but it’s ok. Shiro is happy for the tight hug he gets and gives, and having got to walk Keith to his door while the man was donning Shiro’s clothes.

There was no kiss but somehow the day didn’t even need it.

When Shiro wakes up later for his shift, he can’t keep off the stupid grin and aura of elation.


	12. Chapter 12

He has a dream that he’s riding Black, his favorite bike. He’s crunching the miles behind his wheels. He’s free. Until suddenly his arm isn’t there, there’s no prosthetic, and then he’s weaving and it takes all his strength to keep her upright and one hard jerk as the front wheel catches a hole and he’s thrown. It’s merciful he wakes up before impact.

As his mind settles into the moment, the comforting weight of the blankets, the soft orange of sunset through his windows, and the easy articulation of the fingers of his prosthetic as he rubs his face, he realizes something. For all the limitations he’d found himself under when he first lost his arm, all the struggle and turmoil and indescribable frustration, he feels selfish to have the mobility he has now. Feels selfish for not thinking. For being so careless.

In his high from their ride together, lingering still in his veins days later, he’d texted Keith something. Something that doused all that same energy in frigid cold water. Keith had taken it in stride but that made it hurt more, really.

You: You should ride her next

Keith: Uhm, maybe later?

Shiro had screamed into a pillow at then tried to suffocate in its plush fabric prison. He had really, truly, with textual evidence, literal textual evidence, asked Keith, a recent amputee who is just barely learning how to keep upright, if he would like to drive a bike. No, worse- much worse- he’d _told_ Keith to do it.

He brings his laptop and books to a café. In some ways it lets him pretend he left himself, and his great big mistakes, at home.

The low hum of conversation atop the hissing of machines, stirring of spoons, and clinking of plates and mugs is soothing.

He orders a fresh cinnamon roll and a cappucino and settles into a single-seat table to the courner, the same one he usually sets down at. It’s a nice one; a long, art-deco type lamp hangs down and bathes the table in its gentle orange glow. The sounds of the café are more muffled from the spot, too.And it’s set opposite from the door so he can watch who comes and goes. The only drawback is sometimes the memories of Adam linger there, like the man himself has pulled up a chair before Shiro and waits there. Like he, too, remembers their study dates and their ’date’ dates, and the smiles and laughter and the purest form of love Shiro had ever felt. The table can be cleared, floor cleaned, and decorations rearranged, but the ghost of Adam seems always to be there.

Shiro pulls his laptop out and opens it but can’t get himself to turn it on.

How long has been following ghosts? It feels like everything he does now is walking those invisible paths laid for him; paths cobbled by memories, by horrors, none of the stones paved by his own hands.

He sets the textbooks beside his plate but he doesn’t open them.

Instead he eats and drinks, watching the empty spot in front of him.

It really is empty.


	13. Chapter 13

Keith: Shiro can you come over?

He was expecting things to be bad.

He wasn’t expecting to see Keith with bright purple bruises and crusted blood.

”Keith?” Shiro closes the door and rushes to where Keith is a crumpled pile on the ground. He reaches a hand out but stops before his fingers touch; Keith may not want that right now. He repeats, ”Keith,” again and it sounds broken even to his own ears.

Keith groans through visibly clenched teeth. The breath he takes is audible, shakey, and pitiful. He moves to face Shiro, ”Uh, I-” his speech is slow and his eyebrows are furrowed. He draws another breath, ”I was just, hhh, coming home and, uh- There were a few guys-” he chuckles and it’s watery.

”Oh, Keith. Did you- Are you- Should we go to the ER? Keith, there could be damage you don’t know about.” Shiro has to take a breath himself.

”No, I haven’t...”

”Ok, that’s ok. Keith, can I take a look?” He’s seen a lot, been through a lot, and his job demands him to hold it together in and it’s something he’s good at. But seeing Keith broken is... different. Harder to deal with.

Keith nods and lets his head fall back against the wall. It exposes his neck which has a large bruise pressed into it.

”Keith, baby,” the nickname slips before he can think about it, ”I’m really sorry but I’m gonna have to lift your shirt.”

” ’s ok,” but Keith still grimaces as Shiro carefully maneuvers the shirt up and off him.

Shiro sucks in a breath through his teeth and it comes out like a hiss and he hates that Keith squeezes his eyes shut in response, but it’s involuntary. Involuntary like his fingers moving to brush the mottled skin with the barest amount of pressure. Involuntary.

”Keith, bare with me. I’m gonna press some spots. I have to check to see if anything’s broken.”

Rib by rib, Shiro pushes. Keith winces but he doesn’t scream or shove away.

”Ok, that’s good. Now I, there’s a bruise on your hip, I- uh, I have to check it too, ok?”

Keith tries to wiggle the side of his pants down, but Shiro ends up just slipping his hand down. Keith hisses but stays still.

”You ok?”

”Yeah, it’s- ok.”

”Doesn’t seem like anything’s broken. Normally I’d take someone to the ER after something like this-”

”No! Shiro, please.”

”Don’t worry. But Keith I don’t know that I can leave you alone tonight. Do you think you can handle the car ride to my apartment?”

Shiro drives as slow as he can, avoiding any pot holes or bumps. Keith moans quietly whenever the car rocks and every time it makes Shiro’s stomach twist and knuckles tighten on the wheel.

He guides Keith to the couch and gathers some first aid supplies and a damp washcloth. He cleans Keith up. The cuts are thankfully shallow which is a small relief to Shiro.

After a hot cup of cocoa and a pile of blankets wrapped around him Keith starts to open up on what happened.

”I was heading home, I took the bus to the pantry today. A few guys just- They took the food. I had tried to fight them but, well. My stupid leg! Shiro, my goddamn leg!”

”If I had- If I didn’t...I could have taken them.”

”Keith...”

”No! Shiro, my fucking leg! I’m useless and a burden because of it. I can’t function. ”

Shiro bites the inside of his cheek. It’s close to home. Very close. And the thought that the same pain he went through is something Keith is now going through... He bites harder.

”I can’t walk. I have to use walls! I mean I have my stupid crutch but I can’t- I can’t even use that well. Shiro, I... I just can’t. I can’t.”

Keith slams a fist against the cushion of the couch. He screams beneath his breath and it turns to sobs.

Shiro remains quiet, knowing Keith needs to get it out. Knowing Keith has held this all in.

Keith rants.

Shiro listens.

Keith rants more.

Shiro listens more.

Eventually Keith has nothing left in him; his eyes are red but now dry, he’s slumped against the cushions, and his voice sounds shredded.

Shiro tucks the blankets around Keith when the man can’t keep awake. He fetches Keith a pillow and gently works it under him.

He shoots a text to Allura, letting her know something came up, and then heads to bed himself, feeling raw and gutted.


	14. Chapter 14

”When I first lost my arm, I was lost myself,” Shiro’s at the edge of the couch, feet firm on the floor, elbows on knees, and back bent. He’s not sure he’s ever shared any of this aloud. ”I had trouble with basic things. I was right-handed and that meant I had to try and do everything with a... less refined touch. Sometimes when I had to brush my teeth or wash my hair, I’d cry. ”

Shiro chuckles like the frustration wasn’t devastating. 

”Imagine trying to use a phone. I’d never been able to do it one-handed, not even with my right hand. I had to get used to phone calls again.” He laughs again and this time it is kind of funny.

”I hate the phone,” Keith joins Shiro in laughter. 

”Yeah, exactly. So I had to teach my left hand to do, well, everything. Dishes, fixing bikes, y’know. Had to learn the torque with screwdrivers and wrenches. Over-tightened a few bolts here and there.”

He looks to Keith who is mirroring his body language, watching Shiro raptly. 

”Shiro,” it hurts to hear his name in the best of ways, quiet, small, raspy, and intimate, ”How long did it take to get your prosthetic?” 

Shiro turns the metal hand over and inspects it. A marvel of engineering, it connects to his nerves and brain just like a hand, but can still be removed and indeed sometimes is. He presses two fingers into the wrist, holding a few seconds, before a blue light glows up and down it. A button pops up on the forearm and he clicks it in. The prosthetic’s lights power off and it detaches. ”It was... longer than I’d wanted. Here, take a look,” he passes it over to Keith. It’s heavy. He’d forgotten how heavy it is when not attached. He rolls his shoulder and marvels at how empty it feels from the end of his stump, how light, weightless it feels, weightless but wrong. 

He needs to do this more. He doesn’t want his natural body to ever feel wrong, doesn’t want to pretend like he’s whole when he isn’t. 

”Wow, this is heavier than I thought.” Keith weighs the arm in his hands. He presses the raised buttons on the wrist and gasps when it lights up. 

”Keith-” he sucks in air, ”It’s linked to my nerves-” 

”Fuck, I’m sorry!” Keith presses them again and it fades. ”This is... wow. I’ve never seen tech like this. Who built it?” 

”Matt’s sister and her friend, actually. And it is one-of-kind. The doctors had fitted me for a regular one at first, but Katie and Hunk, they wanted to try making me something. The timing lined up perfect with their thesis project actually. That puppy got them a knock at the door from the best universities in the world, full-ride scholarships and guaranteed employment following graduation, they offered anything they could to nab those two.”

Keith whistles. 

Shiro’s throat feels dry, watching Keith very carefully articulate each finger. Part of him wants to tell Keith to activate it again, so he can feel the touch of Keith’s fingers brush his own, but he has a feeling Keith doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. Has a feeling the man will be spooked, apologize, and return the arm hastily, embarrassed.

Keith returns the arm, cradling it as he passes it over. 

”I’m scared.” 

Shiro connects his arm back. ”I was too.”

”What if... what if I never learn to walk again? I- Shiro, I keep dreaming of having my leg back but I... I know that’s not gonna happen. No matter how good the prosthetic. I’ll never get it back. And- as much as I want the prosthetic, getting it... putting it on... using it? It’s like admitting that all.” 

”Yeah, Keith. I... I want to say otherwise. I want to say I don’t have moment where I miss my arm or where this,” he raises the metallic arm, ”feels like a cheap lie. But then I think about all I can do now. I think about all I couldn’t do, all that I needed to, and I remember that this is function. It’s not to make myself feel like it never happened. It’s so I can do mechanics, so I can ride my bikes, so I can shake hands, and touch things, pick them up, so I can brush back hair from the face of a lover, or hold his hand, or place it at his back.” 

Keith makes a noise and it snaps Shiro’s attention up. The man has tears pooling down his cheeks, his mouth is covered and he looks to be trying to choke back sobs. 

Shiro gets up from the couch and lifts Keith bodily, scooping him into a hug. Keith only has one foot on the ground, and that’s ok, Shiro’s holding all the weight Keith needs him to in order to stay upright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hey, I'm crispy-leaf-keith on Tumblr and PregnantKeith on PillowFort


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed some tags for the content of this chapter. There’s nothing graphic, only implied. I also bumped the rating up to teen. I’m not sure this constitutes mature, but let me know.  
This chapter contains a brief instance of molestation.

Standing out here is like standing out while deployed; dangerous. You don’t want attention. Not from the day you step foot in boot. Keith? He’s always stood out. It seemed like no matter where he went he found trouble, or trouble found him. The military was last hope of straightening out, of reigning himself in, or whatever needed to be done so he could... not.

Instead he’s hobbling down the steps that lead from his apartment, assisted by his single crutch. It’s less precarious now that he’s been working on therapy for three weeks.

Even his walk draws attention. The crutch clanks against the cheap metal of the stairs and his other boot is clad in a boot heavy, for its traction and how the weight assists with stability.

The sky is cloudy with hazy gray. It’s a threat that he has no choice to pay it no mind. He needs something to eat. And it will take him as long as it takes him to get there. The only goalpost he dares keep in his mind is making it to the bus.

He passes by a group huddled on the ground, backs against the brick of the alleyway. The putrid smell of cigarette smoke and marijuanna curls in his nose and he holds his breath to keep from coughing. Smoke reminds him now of the aftermath of bombs.

They leave him alone.

The busstop has a single bench beneath the sign that notes its location. It’s gum-crusted and the metal is freezing cold but he doesn’t have to keep on his foot and so he settles down into it.

His phone chirps the chime of a text message, the sweet, happy jingle he’s assigned to Shiro. It makes his stomach twist in the most wonderful of ways. And in the most sickening and terrifying ways too. Fingers tighten their grip on the crutch. If he opens his mouth, he fears butterflies will fly from it.

He hasn’t had a crush since... He can’t remember. But it makes him feel human in both its exhileration and its horror.

Shiro: Hey, I hope you have a good day. I have class and work but I have my phone if you need me

Keith worries his lip between his teeth. He’s warming from head-to-toe.

You: Thanks, Shiro.

He sits down in the front and it’s bitter to read the signs labeling the area as ’Disabled and Elderly.’ He doesn’t like that word. He’s not ready to accept that word. He’s not sure it will ever be something he’ll call himself.

A man sits beside him, white hair that’s more clumped strands than hair, and his smell is noxious. He mutters to himself and Keith is quick to look away, hoping to not draw the man’s attention.

”Pretty lady,” the man says, eyesight probably gone, and reaches over to Keith, running a hand along his stump and to the inside of Keith’s thigh. The man lets out a sickening moan, there’s movement at his lap.

Keith sucks in a breath and bites the urge to smack the man with his crutch. But he wants to keep his head down, doesn’t want attention, so he stumbles from the seat and falls more than sits on the other side. The man, thankfully, doesn’t follow.

The cold pane of the frosted window is a relief as Keith presses his forehead to it.

The line to the food pantry is long when Keith gets there. Public transport is slow, and walking to and from it even slower.

”Didn’t we see you last week?”

_Shit_. The pantry only lets people get food once a month. Keith was hoping he’d manage to slip through but he must have stood out too much. Was it his hair? His face? His leg? Either way, the man helping with the line shoos him off.

He’ll need to get food elsewhere.

The two options he has are skin-crawling.

He wanted so bad, tried so hard, to get away from the life of stealing. That was his youth. In the orphange and then subsequently the homes, Keith had sticky fingers. At first it was hunger. Fear of hunger, really. Young him didn’t trust meals would come. Didn’t trust the meals would give him enough. And those thoughts ended up making it so. So he learned how to take: how to store, to hoard, to build a nest he’d be able to have no matter which faces that week called Keith ’their’ child.

The second option was something he’d never considered. Not really. It was an option, tucked away for desperation. But today had reminded him of it, when that man had reached over and grabbed him.

He limps his way to the nearest convienence store body already exhausted. His reflection catches his eyes in the shop window; a gaunt man, with purple and orange mottled skin, bruised and swollen and sad, stares back at him. This is not the same man who’d shredded his whole batallion in PT. He knows why that man had mistaken him for a woman.

Standing out.

Only barely standing up.

The shopkeep and workers notice him the second he steps through and the bell above the door rings.

Keith steps right out; there’s no way he’ll be able to pocket anything here.

Or anywhere. He’s too slow, too visible, noticeable.

Noticeable is all he has going from him right now.

He swallows. Looking around he sleuths out where he needs to go and does what he does best. He stands around, gathering attention, until it lands him a warm meal and roof over his head for the night.


	16. Chapter 16

When Shiro returns to Keith’s apartment to pick him up for his physical therapy, Keith is still asleep. He’d had to use the spare key that Keith gave him just to get in.

The apartment is frigid. The temperatures had plummeted last night and they even saw their first snow, as little as the storm had brought. The inside of Keith’s place is as cold as the outside and plug-in heater is as far from the outlet as it could get in such a small area.

Keith himself is a curled up bundle on his floorbed. Without any appliances or other things to fill the air with noise, Shiro can hear Keith’s breath. It’s laboured. Worrying. But it’s sign at least that the man was alive.

As Shiro kneels down next to Keith, he gently peels the covers down to his shoulders. His normally silken black hair is sticky against red cheeks and sweat is dripping down it. Reaching out, Shiro tucks the strands away and nearly jumps at how hot Keith feels. Beneath closed lids, Keith’s eyes are moving rapidly, his brows furrow together and raise the skin between them, and he whimpers with a shaky breath.

”Shi..?” Keith stirs and with effort manages to turn his head towards Shiro. His cheeks are sunken in, more than the last time Shiro saw him. His gaze is unfocused but he at least recognizes it’s Shiro.

”Shh, baby, you’re ok.” He hates when the nickname slips. Though Keith appears too delirious to catch it. ”I’m gonna call and cancel your therapy for today.”

Keith just blinks probably not have realized what day it was.

Shiro’s gut twists. His fingers shake with the urge to.. well, he doesn’t know what. It’s winter, Keith refuses to use his heater, he’s losing so much weight, so fast, and... and something’s wrong and it has nothing do with this cold or flu or whatever illness.

You: Matt, I need you to bring me cold medicine asap. I’m at Keith’s and he doesn’t look like he even knows where we are.

Matt: Give me 10

Matt’s there in 8.

”I wasn’t sure what all you needed,” Matt plonks down the bag on the styrofoam table. It looks like he bought one of everything they had at the convience. ”I decided to save the time and just got all this.” Shiro appreciates that Matt would make haste like this.

Shiro plucks the first bottle of what he’s looking for from the bag and works quick to pour it into the little cup it comes with. Carefully he works an arm beneath Keith’s neck and raises the man just enough so he can drink without choking.

Keith just blinks down at the cup as it comes into his sight.

When Shiro speaks he himself can feel how small, how afraid it sounds, ”Baby, this is some come medicine. You have a fever and we need to get it down. Please, can you drink this for me, baby?” It’s an effort to not become hysterical when he watches everything process so slowly through Keith’s eyes.

Keith opens his mouth though and lets Shiro feed him the medicine. And while he makes a face, probably at the foul taste, he gulps it down without issue. With effort, but not issue.

Shiro thanks him and lowers him back down as if he were glass.

Keith blinks and then snuggles against his pillow and falls back asleep.

”Shiro...” Matt begins, after Shiro tucked Keith in, ”I.. have some questions.” He looks around the tiny apartment. He’s sharp, sharper than Shiro, and it seems like he’s reached the same conclusions.

”I don’t have anwers. Not yet. But,” he trails off.

Matt finishes for him. ”Something’s going on.”

Shiro nods. He busies himself with emptying out the bags and arranging the medicine bottles on the table.

Matt, ever merciful when the time is serious, changes the subject. ”Baby?”

”I..” Shiro has no defense for that.

”Baby,” he states this time. Only, where Shiro expected mocking, there’s something soft. Matt’s... smiling. Not full grin or wildly, but he’s smiling. Gently. Subtly. He reaches a hand out to Shiro and squeezes his forearm.

Shiro reaches up and squeezes the hand back. ”Yeah, I... I guess. Ya.”

”Shiro, you got it from here?” He looks between the two of them. He’s not trying to run. There’s... something else, some reason, indecipherable to Shiro at the moment.

Shiro looks over to Keith. If only medicine worked instantly. But Keith seemed more at ease at least. He’d seemed calmer from the moment he’d said Shiro’s name. Maybe, Shiro could hope, if quietly to himself, Keith had been comforted by Shiro. Maybe he still didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but he knew Shiro and Shiro meant safety. Shiro was here, so things must be ok. And while it feels self-important to even entertain the notion, he couldn’t stop himself from doing so.

”He’s in good hands.” Matt squeezes Shiro’s shoulder and slowly makes his way out.

Shiro barely remembers to say bye to Matt, too wrapped in his thoughts now. Too wrapped up in Keith. Especially as the man’s breath begins to even and the color beneath his cheeks settles down.

He can’t stop hearing Keith say his name like that.

When Keith gets better, he thinks he’s going to finally ask about everything. He thinks the time has come that he’s earned that trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me reading angst: Nice  
Me writing angst: I’m literally gonna die


	17. Chapter 17

Shiro has two choices. He refuses to leave Keith alone like this, because what if Keith gets worse? What if it’s not just a cold or the flu? What if Keith needs something but no one’s there? What if someone tries to break in? Keith couldn’t defend himself-

No.

There are two choices.

Choice one is to bring Keith back to his place.

Except Shiro can just see Keith waking up, confused, terrified, and disoriented. Shiro doesn’t pretend to know what Keith’s life has been like, nor what his time serving was like, but if it’s been anything like Shiro’s, then there’s little else more horrifying than waking up not knowing where you are.

Choice two is to stay in Keith’s apartment until the man recovers.

Matt watches over Keith while Shiro goes to get some things from his apartment, of course not before Matt teases Shiro about it.

”Shiro, he’s a grown man. A grown man, Shiro.”

”But he’s sick!”

”Grown. Man.”

”Matthew.”

Matt chuckles and smacks Shiro’s shoulder, ”I’m kidding. I get it. It’s sweet. Now go, get your things, so you can come back to your baby.”

Shiro is never, ever, ever going to live that one down. Ever.

There’s a lot to be said about a person by their homes. Keith’s is sparce, but not just because of how tight the space is. There are no decorations, no knick-knacks, or anything that would personalize it. Clothing peeks out from boxes, like Keith is always ready to tape them back up and leave. In fact, everything in the room is contained in something that could transport easy. He wonders if that’s how they were moved and Keith never bothered to unpack or make an attempt to settle in.

Shiro checks on Keith, brushing his hand softly along Keith’s forehead. The fever is abating and Keith’s expression is soft, he’s asleep and it seems restful now.

Plugging in the heater, Shiro sets his laptop on the styrofoam table, and gets comfortable. As comfortable as he can as he waits for it to warm up. His breath billows from his mouth in clouds.

_How did Keith do it?_

He has to set a hotspot up from his phone. Even if Keith were awake, he has a feeling there isn’t wi-fi here.

Homework eats up his time and attention, though he makes the occassional pause to check on Keith.

Keith stirs a few hours later, ”Shiro! Turn it off! I can’t affo- I’m sweating.”

Shiro grits his teeth. It’s not the time yet to talk to Keith about this.

”Keith, you need to sweat it out.”

”No, I- That’s what the blankets are for.”

It’s dirty, but he knows it’ll work, and that’s all he needs right now. He needs to not rile up Keith anymore than the man already is. He needs the heater to stay on. ”But I’m cold.”

It’s hard to make out Keith’s face from the soft lighting of his laptop screen, but the pause he takes, the silence where Keith would usually take to keep fighting back, draws a picture enough.

When Keith breaks the silence, he sounds small. ”I’m sorry. It’s- Fine. I’m gonna go back to bed now.”

It stabs him in the gut and twists the knife that does so.

Shiro tries to remind himself that he had to. Keith wouldn’t have let it go, wouldn’t have kept the heat on, if not for Shiro. The other conversation, the honest one, the one where Shiro asks Keith about his situation, would do nothing but stress Keith. And only to himself will Shiro admit that he’s a bit afraid of it anyway.

He goes back to his homework but it’s hard to concentrate with the guilt pressing down so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s so short. My days are long right now and I’m still recovering from my medication cessation. 
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful support! <3


	18. Chapter 18

”Keith,” he begins, his fingers drumming along his thigh as he tries to order thoughts, and figure out the right thing to say, and to be prepared for Keith to get angry, or worse, become distant. Keith is long past his sickness. Shiro had been getting his own, but not a health sickness, not a body one, but one of dread. An emotional sickness.

Keith’s been using the heater more. He has a courner stocked with non-perishables; some canned vegetables, boxes of junk food, and fruit snacks. In just a few short weeks, Keith has gotten some meat on his bones.

But those are good things. Great things.

No, what’s making Shiro sick is that along with all that Keith has started to have other things. Things like scratch marks, hickies, bruises, and bites. All while there being no sign of a lover, relationship, or any inkling toward a desire for casual encounters.

And while Shiro can’t say he knows Keith, not really, not deeply, his instincts are telling him that there is no coincidence between a growing of resource and signs of intimacy.

”Keith?” Shiro repeats because Keith seems busy elsewhere, somewhere in his head. He looks like his mind is off on Pluto. Shiro feels bad to make him come back down to Earth.

”Oh, sorry,” Keith smiles, sheepish, and adjust his collar where there’s a particularly dark bruise blooming, ”What was that?” And his eyes meet Shiro’s so innocent that it causes Shiro to wince.

”I just was... I was asking if everything was ok.”

”What? Yeah, of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Shiro’s fingernails dig into his thighs. Keith isn’t going to make this on easy. ”Well, I- Y’know, it’s- Keith, listen,” he sees the sharpness set into those shoulders, Keith’s on the defense, and Shiro can’t blame him, ”I’ve been noticing that things have uh, changed, circumstantially, for you recently...” He hopes Keith will follow it.

”What do you mean?”

Keith is gonna have to be dragged by the hair before he’d follow on this.

”Keith... You’re using your heater-”

”-Duh, it’s cold-”

”You have some food-”

”-And I eat, like others-”

”-Keith-”

”-Listen ok, I’m fine. Times were tough, now they’re not. What’s wrong with that?”

Shiro likes to think himself an even-tempered guy. But sometimes, sometimes he is anything but. ”Keith, stop it! I can see the hickies from here. Keith, you’re selling yourself!”

The room is like a bomb went off, only a reverse bomb, one that, instead of exploding things, it implodes things. All that was lain bare, comfortable and safe in its exposure, is instantly locked away somewhere secret. All the heat in the room, the heat that existed more than just from the unit, is sapped away in an instant.

Keith looks away, fingers tracing the bruises along his neck. He swallows and no other noise fights to be heard over it. His lips smooth against each other. His body folds in on itself.

”Go.” Keith commands, no volume or weight to it. Hoarse, scratchy. ”Just go.”

There is little in the world that Shiro would run from. But right now he accepts Keith’s orders. Right now he wants tp be anywhere but there, seeing anything but that. He doesn’t want to watch Keith break, become who he was when Shiro first met him. So when Keith tells him to go?

He goes.

And he doesn’t look back.

Not until he’s home.

Not until he’s in his own bed, buried under covers.

He only looks back when his vision is distorted with tears.

Only then does he see the devastation that was in Keith’s eyes, only then does he see the betrayal, the vulnerability.

”Go,” he hears the word play on repeat until he finally works himself to exhaustion and falls asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

The key to Keith's apartment is a shock of cold when his fingers dip into his pocket. He was checking for a folded sticky note that he'd stuffed in one of them. He'd forgotten the thing was there, or at least that's what he pretends, as if it doesn't get taken out every night, placed gingerly on the night stand every night, and returns to his pocket every morning. He just forgets it's there. 

It's been a few weeks since he's seen Keith, and just as long since he's talked to him. As eager as he is to see Keith, he's ill-eager to fumble things again. 

Which has meant his life is quiet again. Not in terms of schedule, of which he's packed in order to make time move quicker, but in terms of... everything else. 

Quiet.

Empty.

"You're sulking," Matt stabs his eggs and shoves a bite in his mouth. 

Shiro wants to lean forward and stamp his forehead into his five-stack, raspberry syrup and all. Though the eggs might be more appropriate to have on his face. 

"Oh my god, you're whining. Shiro," he says, whining, "You're being a pathetic Patrick, stop."

"Matt, I told him he's selling himself." 

Matt scoffs and snaps his fork, prong-side, toward Shiro's face and opens his mouth, then closes it. He settles on scooping another small pile of eggs in. 

Shiro didn't know it was possible to chew eggs threateningly. He contemplates the pancakes again; the syrup would block his vision at least. "I'm so dumb. I just-"

"-Hey no, do not shoulder this all. Keith is frustrating and it's any wonder you've avoided causing a nuclear meltdown-"

"-Keith isn't- He just. Ok, fine. Yeah, he can be frustrating. He's just... Been through a lot." 

Matt snorts mid-sip of his coffee, "Wow, if only _we_ knew what that were like." 

Shiro massages his temples because damn if he's not about to explode on Matt the same way he did on Keith and he can't afford losing both friends. 

"Listen, bruh, I get it. We get it. If _anyone_ could get it, it would be us. But that's why, yknow? We learned to reach out for help. We opened up. And... I just think Keith is being stubborn to everyone's, including his, detriment."

Somehow Matt convinces Shiro to go out on Friday night. 

"You realize that... That night isn't really a big deal to me, right?" Shiro says while still letting Matt stuff him into a nice button down. 

"Shush, we're gonna hit The Library, get you laid-"

"-You mean you. And that's a heck of an overestimate of the evening-"

"-And you're gonna stop moping." 

Matt tries to roll up Shiro's sleeves but he's actually not good at dressing people. Most especially himself. Which is why Shiro picked out not just what he'd wear, but also what Matt would. He swats Matt's hands away and carefully folds his sleeves until they're crisp and clean along his forearm. 

Matt whistles while smacking Shiro's butt. "Damn, papi, if I swung your way..."

"You'd knock me over for your aim," He snickers and brushes his slacks down as if there were wrinkled to smooth. But he doesn't do anything by halves and they've already been ironed so that the only curves in the fabric are around his own. 

Matt takes a picture, for 'memories', because of course he does.

Shiro knows that he's handed Matt some type of ammunition but he's unsure of which weapon it belongs to. 

Though clubs aren't usually his thing, Shiro enjoys The Library. It's less of a club and more of a, well, library with alcohol. At least it's the case at the section he goes to. Matt heads to the actual club part, where the lights are low, the music is loud, and there's dancing. 

There're less people on this side but still Shiro keeps getting chatted up, and when not being chatted up, there're people hanging in his peripheral taking glances at him. 

All these people and he still finds he'd rather keep reading his book. It's not that they're unattractive, or seem uninteresting, they're just... 

They don't have silky black hair that frames their beautifully angled faces. Nor the artistic spatter of light brown freckles across full, defined cheeks. Nor the raised keloid that traces from chin to undereye. Their eyes aren't a blue so deep they could be black at times. Their voices aren't a harsh rasp with sweet, smooth honey that balms it. 

"Hey there, it that bad, huh?" 

Shiro blinks not processing the man who's approached.

Said man waves at the book in front Shiro. 

"Oh, uh. Something like that." 

The man chuckles deep, hearty and smoothly slides into the seat across from him. He's thick with muscles and has short tan hair and brown skin. He holds himself with confidence and surety. He's gorgeous. 

But he's still not Shiro's type.

"I'm Curtis," Curtis extends a broad hand out. 

He's not Keith.

"Shiro. Nice to meet you," he shakes the hand firm. Curtis seems sweet, and it's not his fault he isn't Keith.

"So, can I ask? If it's not the book, what's put such an expression on your face?" He smiles and it's warm and genuine.

Shiro rubs the back of his neck, looking around at the tall bookshelves and the paintings on the walls. 

Curtis' smile falls a little. Saddens a little. "Trouble in paradise?" 

"Something like that." 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"-No! Uh, no. It's ok. I would've assumed the same. It was just a friend who drug me here, so. Figured I'd hide up here."

"You? Hide?" He snorts, "I don't think that's really an option. But, sorry again. I hope whatever it is, you two can smooth it out." 

"Thanks, Curtis."

Curtis just nods and slides back his chair. Shiro can't tell but it looks like Curtis heads down to the club portion.

Shiro goes to the bar and orders a White Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never nor will ever watch s8, minus the last minutes I immediately skimmed upon its drop, so I have no idea what Curtis is like.   
Poor guy. I wish the best for him, even if I believe he was made solely to attempt to ease fans after all that took place.  
So my apologies if I’ve mischaracterized him.


	20. Chapter 20

After a long talk with Matt about him running away, Shiro finds himself at Keith’s door.

He knocks quiet. No answer.

He knocks a little harder. No answer.

Harder. No answer.

Harder. Nothing.

Finally, he takes in a deep breath and knocks at a volume that can actually be heard, and then there’s Keith.

There’s Keith.

Shiro feels both breathless and like vomiting.

”Keith.”

”You.”

Shiro lets himself think before reacting, pause before he does something rash. Again.

”Keith, I-”

”You don’t know me.”

It tastes bitter in his mouth, bitter to swallow. But Keith’s right. Shiros doesn’t know him. ”I’m sorry.”

Keith seems taken aback. ”Why?”

”What?”

”I said... Why? Why are you doing this? You don’t know me! You’re wasting your time. I’m a useless cripple, I can barely hold a fucking pencil, or draw a straight line.I should’ve just di...I- Yeah, Shiro, you were right a few weeks ago. I did... I... so. Why?”

Shiro leans in slowly, spreading his arms, hesitating just before he wraps his arms around Keith. He looks into Keith’s eyes, asks the question.

Keith knocks his forehead to Shiro’s chest and fists his shirt.

Shiro crushes him.

”I was scared, I guess,” Keith uses his crutch to help himself lower down to Shiro’s couch. He grabs the pillow beside him and sets it behind his back; Shiro can only imagine the energy it took to walk from the apartment to Shiro’s car, and then Shiro’s car to his apartment. He’s a little winded, so the words are slower, but Shiro has nothing but time. ”Scared. Hungry. I only have so much saved from sign-ons and bonuses. I don’t want to get welfare. I’m not... I’m not disabled. I just need to get on my feet-” he smacks his head, ”you know what I mean. I’ve never needed anybody and I don’t want to start.”

”Er, that is, I mean. I’ve never needed to be taken care of. And I’m not gonna let this,” he raises his stump, ”make that change.”

Shiro considers his words, is mindful to pause so that Keith can continue if he needs to. ”It’s ok to need help, Keith. I can’t tell you how much I relied on my unit, even as their officer. Keith, if you’re hungry, I have food. If you’re cold,I keep my place warm.”

Keith pauses in turn.

”I’ve been thinking. And, don’t take this the wrong way... It’s just. Look, Keith. I don’t want to see you struggling, not right now. Right now you need to not worry about anything other than simply adjusting.”

”Adjusting to life as a civillian is hard. Even if you come back fully in-tact, it’s not easy.” Shiro licks his lips and smoothes the fabric of his pants.

Actions speak louder.

Keith doesn’t need smooth talking or empty promise.

”Keith I was thinking that, maybe, it might be good, I mean if you wanted... To... stay here. Just ’til things get a bit better.”

Keith purses his lips and hangs his head back against the headrest of the couch. His fingers lift to rub at his neck and he slips his eyes closed. He then drapes his forearm across his face like he’s trying to hide. ”Why?” He sounds resigned.

”Because you’re worth it.”

Keith groans, ”again, you don’t know me.”

”That’s still true but maybe I’d like to.”

”Why though?”

”Because you’re interesting. Because I like you. Because I want to.”

”That doesn’t answer my question, Shiro.”

”Keith. Please, just... let me help, ok? Give me the chance to. Worse that can happen is you decide I’m boring or you just don’t like it here. I’ll help you move back, no questions asked, I’ll return the key and delete your number.”

”Tell you what, ba- Keith. I’ll answer your why if you can answer my ’why not?’”

And thus was their impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My days work such that I usually only have about 2 hours between work and bed, and 1 hour is my jog and shower. The other hour is writing time. I challenge myself to write a chapter a night, ideally 1000 words. So spare time is hard to find.  
So I’m gonna designate the weekends as my time to reply to comments (though I may get to them sooner, but weekend should be latest).  
Thank you all for your wonderful support! I get so excited to read your comments and see your kudos! <3


	21. Chapter 21

They move Keith into the empty bedroom in Shiro’s place. It was going to be his art room, back when he got the itch to take up the hobby. Only he was never any good. And while he knows patience and practice will make a decent artist of him, there are just certain instincts, certain ways of viewing things, or solving the visual problems, that don’t come to him. 

Keith doesn’t seem to mind cramming between the easels and strewn about supplies. He looks at everything with a gleam in his eyes that makes Shiro think it won’t have been a waste for all he bought. 

”Always told myself I’d come back to it one day. Like owning this all would somehow make me wake up one day a painter,” Shiro chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. ”’Suppose it’s best to face the fact that I’m probably best with a wrench in my hand and not a paint brush.”

It brings a smile to Keith’s face. 

And a warmth to Shiro’s cheeks thereafter. 

It’s strange showing Keith the apartment in depth. Unlike the first time, this time Shiro has to show Keith through each cabinet and drawer. 

”I’m- uh, not the best cook,” It’s another thing Keith didn’t have to know prior. 

”You’re how old?” Keith hobbles over to counter beside Shiro and rests his weight against the edge. There’s amusement lighting up his face, and though it’s at Shiro’s expense, it’s a breath of relief to see. Keith may not admit it, and Shiro won’t dare bring it up, but now that Keith is here the man is lighter. The burdens, or perhaps just a large bit, have been lifted. 

It makes it easier to settle back into their routine by having Keith there; Shiro takes Keith to physical therapy again, after Keith had missed a few weeks it became a priority for Shiro to make sure he got to the office. Shiro returns to his normal work schedule because he’s not as worried, nor feeling stressed thinking about how to patch things up with Keith. Which also makes it easier to concentrate on his classes.

But with those squared away there’s still the adjustment to... Well, everything else. Keith. Having a housemate. Keith. 

Keith.

They’re very alike in that they could spend all of their free time alone, locked inside their rooms, leaving their havens only for food and necessity. And while Shiro had been able to ignore that trait in himself thus far, it’s harder to ignore when he can see how it affects Keith. 

The best way, Shiro figures, to get Keith out of the house, is to get out himself. 

”Hey, babe,” he says one evening, the nickname having become a silent norm sans explanation, of which both sides are willing to ignore, as he’s setting the plates out for Keith to serve the dinner he’s made them, ”So, I’ve been feeling kind of antsy.”

”Hm?” Keith plates up their food and takes his apron off, folding it neatly and placing on the handle to the oven. He maneuvers to the table and slips down into the seat.

Shiro grabs their plates and sets them down and then goes to grab them something to drink. Keith likes apple juice with every meal as Shiro’s learned, and it’s started to grow on him too. 

”Ok, so I was thinking, maybe we could take some evening art classes? I looked around at there’s a class where I’d have enough time to bring us home, get ready, and head off to work.” 

Keith hums over a bite of his salmon. 

”I know I’m not great at art but I think it would be nice for me to learn. I’m sure you could help me too.” 

He raises an eyebrow and takes a large drink of his juice. 

His hair is getting longer. When he met Keith, it barely curled at the ends to his shoulders, but now there’s enough for a ponytail. And often does he see Keith having to sweep back bangs and errant strands that fall across his face. Like right now, where some of his hair is falling from the loose ponytail and fanning across his cheeks. He seems to have more mind in eating because he just keeps brushing it away instead of re-tying it. 

”Does that sound like something you’d like to do?”

The courners of his mouth pull up slightly, it’s between a smile and a laugh. Not a humourous laugh, but a warm one. He swallows his food and it’s a battle to not watch Keith’s adam’s apple bob beneath the skin of his throat. It’s a battle Shiro loses and his consequence is feeling lightheaded. ”Yeah, whatever you wanna do.” 

”But do you want to?”

”Yeah, I mean. It sounds fun. I think.” 

Keith’s still not one to speak his mind. It feels like there’re always things that get left out, or else are talked around. He’s still guarded. 

Shiro can’t remember the last time he’d left the apartment for anything other than work, school, or necessity. The newest destination had been Keith’s and the physical therapy office. He’d never been one to venture out unless required before he served, and his deployment hadn’t changed that. But simply driving somewhere new felt good. Freeing. Exciting. Calming for its promise of new adventure and it’s tearing down of the monotony that silently threatened to upend him. 

It’s hard to tell in the pitch-black of a moonless night so late in the season but the recreation center is located in a more forested area. Most of the trees have shed piles high at their bases but through the headlights he can see there are still some leaves hanging on, vibrant in colour.

He parks and feels a twisting in his gut to notice that the entrance is quite far from even the first row of handicap parking. There’s also some steps that lead up to front door. And while there is a smooth ramp, it’s even more out-of-the-way and there’s a gamble that it would require more energy to just navigate there than to make way up the steps. 

When they get out of the car Shiro waits, letting Keith lead them, letting him decide which path is best. Keith chooses the stairs and Shiro goes slowly to make sure he can catch Keith if need be. 

Keith’s started to accept the help at least; he seems to feel less pitied, and more just supported.

At least Shiro hopes that’s the case.

The art room is tricky to navigate to. They take two left turns and then snake through a reception area to get there. 

”Made it,” Keith says near breathless as he carefully sinks onto the low seat of a drawing horse. 

There are only two other people in the room, both of which are busy in their own stations setting up. Shiro wanted to come early specifically to make sure Keith could get set up comfortably, and without the unwanted attention. Though that will come anyway, Shiro hopes Keith will be too invested in the paper to notice. 

He finishes laying out both of their supplies on their respective areas and sits down. 

The nerves bubble inside him like low boil of water, warm and excited, but not hot and threatening to burst free from the pan. 

The class goes well. It goes better for Keith, who seems to keep up with the model as they pose, though Shiro does notice the tremor in Keith’s hand and the occassional under-the-breath cursing as his hand skids the charcoal hard across and off the paper. Shiro, well, he makes... something. 

While packing their supplies and pieces up he notices the glances and stares at them. He’s been so long healed, so long adjusted, that he forgets that his missing arm is a big deal to others. A deal that’s more than just the emotional battle of having lost his arm. So it’s a reminder when eyes fall not just on the stump of Keith’s leg, but also the sleek carbon-fiber metal of his prosthetic.

Keith doesn’t appear to notice. He’s busy looking over the works he’s made tonight. He seems to glow in satisfaction of having made them. 

When they head back to the car, Keith having only begrudgingly passed along the fruits of his labour, Shiro has to right Keith a few times. Keith must be tired, Shiro thinks, because his crutch doesn’t usually slip as much. 

Keith falls asleep no less than two minutes into the car ride home. 


	22. Chapter 22

The therapist has Keith try swimming today. It’s the most successful Shiro has seen him during therapy. He’s more shakey than usual though, but that’s to be expected from having to swim in the pool for half an hour. Once again it makes Shiro wonder how strong Keith was before.

They go out to eat because Shiro refuses to let Keith cook after his tiring morning. And Shiro doesn’t want to subject Keith to anything less than delicious and nourishing. He’s earned it.

The restaurant is a small, family owned pizzeria. The building is one that’s made of red brick and the chairs are more stool-like, with fancy metal work that’s aesthetic over support.. The cobblestone leading up the front has Shiro worried, especially with Keith being exhausted from therapy, but Keith takes slower steps and they make it inside without incident.

The smell of fresh dough and tomato fills the space and it makes Shiro’s mouth water and stomach rumble.

Shiro heads to the counter and tries to ignore the soft cursing and squeak of metal across the floor as Keith takes his seat.

He orders them a pepperoni pizza and some bread with olive oil to snack as they wait for the pie to be made.

Keith looks gorgeous with the gentle winter sun shining through the window and on him. His hair is still a little damp and his face flushed. And Shiro really wants kiss him. And when Keith turns to Shiro, he has the softest smile. Shiro feels his heartbeat flutter.

”My dad used to take me to get pizza,” Keith’s smile falters, it’s a little sad now, but no less soft, ”I.. Used to get in trouble at school- lots of fights - and he’d take me from school when it happened. He wouldn’t yell or get mad. He’d get us pizza and let me talk about it before he’d even say anything.”

”Your dad sounds like a good man.”

”He was, wasn’t he? I miss him.”

”I’m sorry, Keith.” Shiro reaches a hand across the table and Keith reaches his own. He squeezes Keith’s hand and doesn’t let go. He rubs his thumb across Keith’s knuckles.

”Thank you.”

They bring the pizza to the table and that’s all the breaks their handhold. If he weren’t so hungry, he’d be upset at the loss. But he is and so he, and Keith, begin shoving their faces full of pie.

The radio plays soft ambient Italian instrumentals.

When there’s a lull in eating Shiro wipes his mouth on the napkin and swallows. He doesn’t talk about the past aloud. But Keith deserves to know about Shiro, like Shiro is getting to know Keith. ”You know, it’s funny. My first time in Italy I had went looking for pizza. Imagine my surprise when I ordered some and well... it’s different”

”Bad?” Keith raises his hand to block that his mouth is full.

”No, not bad. Just not what I was expecting.”

”Did you like Italy?”

Shiro smiles. ”I love it there. If I ever go back, I’d like to take you.”

Keith smiles wide, tomato sauce staining to courners of his lips. His sweet, plump lips. Shiro chuckles because he wants to lick it off.

”I’d like that.”

As successful as Keith was at therapy is directly proportional to how unsuccessful Shiro is being at their art class. The instructor is having them make sketches of the 5 and 10 second poses from the model. Shiro keeps pressing the charcoal stick too hard and it’s snapping down the paper. By the time he recovers the model has already moved.

Keith, on the other hand, is keeping good pace. The lines capture the motion and weight of the model and it doesn’t matter if there’s a stutter in his lines, it’s beautiful.

He ends up silently giving up in favor of watching Keith. It’s actually something he can use to learn; he’s comparing the model to Keith’s paper and seeing the decisions, which lines represent what, and which portions are important.

Shiro groans, resting his back against the edge of his kitchen counter and hangs his head back, it thunks audibly against the cabinet.

”It’s ok, Shiro. Art is hard.”

”Yeah... I just. It’s- frustrating.”

”Would you like some help? I noticed your torsos were kind of off.”

It raises a chuckle from Shiro. Keith is so honest.

”Ok, so- you just- when you’re drawing the ribs- ok actually,” Keith grabs the edge of his shirt and lifts it.

Now, Shiro has seen Keith naked. It’s part of his job. He’s not shy about nudity; he can’t afford to be.

But there’s something different, completely and wholy, about a man, specifically Keith, taking his clothes off in front of Shiro, for Shiro. Even if the context is nothing intimate.

Smooth, light brown skin, drawn taut over toned muscles, is revealed and it may as well be in slow motion. Each individual muscle can be seen moving as Keith wiggles out of his shirt.

It steals his breath like a thief robbed him blind.

Keith is pointing to muscles and ribs and he’s saying something but Shiro can’t hear any of it.

”-Ok, so. Here-” Keith grabs Shiro’s hand and guides Shiro’s fingers to trace what he’s talking about. He doesn’t look at Shiro, instead he’s got his full attention on Shiro’s hand. Keith doesn’t realize what he’s doing.

Which is probably for the best. Shiro thinks his expression will give everything away. He can’t breathe. His mouth is dry. Swallowing is hard.

”Does that make sense now?”

_No. Not at all. I haven’t heard a word you’ve said._

”Yeah, thanks, Keith.”

_God._


	23. Chapter 23

  
”I’m getting fitted soon.” His rests his elbows on the kitchen table. He served himself coffee but he hasn’t touched it. The window’s curtains are drawn but the morning is gray and there’s not much light. Shiro had been tidying up the cabinets when Keith came in and the man had been quiet. No phone. No book. Keith just sat there.

Beneath his eyes are lilac shiners, he looks as if he hasn’t slept well in a few days. His hair is errant from his haphazard ponytail. Like he’d slept with it tied up and hadn’t re-done it.

Oh. ”Keith...”

Getting fitted for his prosthetic was a tougher time than he had expected. It wasn’t exactly a resignation, what was there to be resigned to? He’d lost his arm and there was no choice in the matter, how he felt about it didn’t matter, it was gone. But getting a prosthetic was a confirmation that it wouldn’t come back. But it was about being able to do things again, too, while also having to re-learn how.

”It’s ok. I’m ready-” Keith drags a palm down his face, ”I used to run. It’s gonna take awhile to re-learn but I want to be able to do it again. That and ride.” They’d been on some rides since the first one but Shiro could tell Keith itched to be the one in the pilot’s seat, so to speak.

”Hey Shiro?”

”Mm?”

Keith darts a tongue across his lips and scratches the hair at the base of the ponytail, making a bigger mess of it. He looks down at the table and then back up to Shiro with eyes blown wide and brows raised and pressing together the skin between them. His breath shakes as he speaks, ”I’m scared.”

Shiro walks from the counter and settles into a chair across from Keith. ”It’s a lot. I’m not gonna lie to you. It was hard learning how to do things without my arm. But it was harder learning with. Especially when it was an ordinary model.”

”You had an ordinary prosthetic?”

”At first. But Hunk and Katie saw what it was like for me.”

Keith chews his lip. ”Do you- Do you think it’s gonna be harder for me? Since it’s my leg?”

”I-”

”It’s gonna hurt right? I’m sore already and I don’t have anything there. I mean... it’s gonna be rubbing. What if I hate it?”

Keith runs a hand through his hair and grabs. The tie falls all the way off and his hair cascades down his face. ”I feel so trapped.”

”Shiro, I feel so trapped. It’s my leg. Of anything the bomb could have taken! My leg! I can’t walk. I’m so terrified I’ll never walk again, not without these stupid crutches.”

Shiro wishes he knew what to say. He can’t imagine losing a leg. He doesn’t want to, as cruel as he tells himself that is. And that makes it hurt more to know Keith doesn’t get a choice in that. He has to live with it.

”I- I think I need some air. Shiro can we go for a walk?” Keith winces, ”Don’t.. I know. Just. Can we go outside?”

Shiro grabs the large umbrella on their way out. The clouds have made good on their promise and are pouring rain and if it gets any colder it may turn to sleet or snow. The cold is refreshing and makes him feel alive and from the looks of Keith, the man feels the same.

The best part about wet days in winter are that most people are indoors.

The two enjoy the stroll in quiet. It’s slow but Shiro’s gotten used to it. It’s a bit challenging with how long Shiro’s legs but they’ve learned a good rhythm that keeps them both in step.

The trees are almost barren now.

There’s a bench with a shelter atop it keeping it dry and Shiro leads them to it.

He keeps quiet, letting Keith gather his thoughts.

”I’m scared, too, because... what happens when this over?”

”This?”

”I mean what happens when I’m healed and walking and...” he trails off.

Shiro thinks he gets it, ”You mean, when it’s time to focus on being a civillian?”

”Yeah.”

Shiro chuckles because it’s the same question he’s asking himself. Even still.

”You know, Keith, I still have no idea. I’m studying to be a doctor, I’m working as a nurse, but that’s because Matt got the job at the hospital first. So I followed.”

”What do you want to be doing?”

He chuckles again and a places a hand on Keith’s shoulder. ”I don’t know.”

”Me either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This weekend was hell and I feel empty  
Sorry orz


	24. Chapter 24

Keith is standing at the stove. He’s off to the side leaning agains the counter as he stirs whatever he’s making in the pot. His hair is tossed into a messy bun which exposes his neck. Some scars crawl up the back of it and they’re drawing Shiro in, making his lips itch to press against them and down the bones of Keith’s neck, down to his shoulders, down his spine. The warm aroma of soup wafts through the kitchen. Keith seems none-the-wiser to Shiro’s presence, humming under his breath as he stirs. Keith turns to his phone and scrolls, probably reading something by the looks of it.

It feels so domestic.

Keith adapted quickly to living with Shiro. He’d thought the other man would have difficulty adjusting, or that he’d fight Shiro on principal of not wanting to be helped. Though Keith really took to cleaning and cooking and Shiro can’t help but feel that might be guilt-driven. But he prefers this to the alternative. And when, inevitably, Keith wants to talk about it, Shiro will be ready to assure him that he’s no burden.

Keith rubs the back of his neck and then turns the motion into a stretch.

”Hey, Keith.”

”Shiro?” Keith snaps quickly towards him, the spoon he was using to stir turns with, spattering Shiro in the process. Keith curses and scrambles for the dishtowel next to the stove and waves Shiro over. ”Sorry,” he wipes the shirt down.

”I didn’t know you like to sing.”

Keith blanches, ”You heard that?”

”Yeah. You have a nice voice. I like it.”

Keith mumbles something and turns back to the soup. ”How was work?”

He tells Keith about the emergency patient who came in downstairs and the elderly woman who kept pinching Shiro’s butt. The last bit gives Keith a laugh and Shiro feels like maybe it wasn’t so bad. Or at least it was worth it to earn the sweet sound of Keith’s joy.

Shiro comes home to flowers set inside a vase on the table. Beautiful bright petals branch out from deep green stems, none of which he knows the name to. All the same they paint life into the otherwise gray of the kitchen. Grey of the house.

There’s a little notecard beside that Shiro picks up gingerly and opens. The writing has good penmanship. ’I thought they’d look nice.’ It reads.

He searches for Keith but doesn’t find him in the kitchen. What he does find is their can has three of those cards that are crumpled up and thrown in; one of which he can see the writing on, which has some bumps in the otherwise smooth lettering.

Keith is in his room flopped atop the blankets and still fully clothed in jeans and his winter coat. His crutches are lent up against his bed.

”There’s nowhere to get flowers nearby,” Shiro whispers, thinking aloud, as he fights the urge to at least take off Keith’s coat and burrito him by folding the covers up and around him.

Shiro doesn’t go into the room often so he takes a quick peek around. Keith has the art that Shiro’s made hung up on the wall. It makes Shiro cringe to see his messy, amateur scrawlings displayed with so much care. It makes him cringe. But it also lights a fire in his chest.

”Keith, baby,” he sighs and carefully, very carefully, works the coat off the sleeping man and folds it and sets it next to the bed. He then makes good on drawing the covers to surround Keith. It will come undone if Keith moves at any point, but Shiro’s afraid it will wake him to pull the blankets from beneath him.

”It’s bad, Matt,” Shiro slurps his milkshake. It’s below freezing outside but when you want a good vanilla malt, you want a damn vanilla malt. Of the many upsides to having muscles the ability to warm up quick is probably the best.

”Are you writing his name in journals?,” Matt changes his voice into a bad imitation of Shiro, ”’Dear diary-”

”-No-”

”-I can’t wait to make him Mr. Shirogane-”

”-Matt, no-”

”-Xoxoxo.”

”Matt.”

”Shiro.”

Matt locks eyes with Shiro and paws the man’s milkshake, taking a large, loud slurp to assert dominance.

”Matt.”

”Ugh ok, jeez. Ok. Continue.”

Shiro grabs Matt’s soda and chugs the rest of it to assert his own dominance.

”He brought home flowers. Matt, there is nowhere to get flowers nearby. He walked all that way- and where’d he even- Flowers are expensive! Why would he waste, well ok it’s not wasting, but, you get what I mean.”

”Uh, no, sarg, I can’t say I do.”

Shiro scrubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. ”I like him.”

There’s every opportunity there for Matt to guffaw and poke fun at him. It’s so obvious at this point. He’s not even sure why he said it- why he felt he needed to. It didn’t really feel better either.

Well.

No, maybe it did.

_I like Keith_. He says again, this time to himself. It warms him from toe to throat as much as it makes his hands want to tremble and feet to run.

Shiro continues, ”I feel like it’s so early to say that. I don’t know him.”

”Do you really think that? Shiro, you live with him. You play house with him. You can’t tell me you two haven’t talked at some point.”

”I mean, of course we have but...”

”But, you’re Takashi Shirogane and you keep everything about you close to you. And he’s not too far from that either.”

”Don’t say it like that, but, ya.”

”Ok, so you’re both watching each other from the tops of your enormous walls, and you want to be let in? So, what’s the problem? Climb down your wall and knock on his.”

”I don’t know how. I’ve never- not even with,” he pauses and holds the moment silent, ”Adam. That’s honestly why we really broke up. He didn’t understand my dream. But I didn’t really let him inside to begin to. He felt I was running. And maybe I was. Maybe I am. But, that’s me. I can’t stay still for long, I need excitement or I get bored.”

”From what I gathered, Adam had wanted you to stay here, settle down, all that domestic stuff.”

Shiro nods. ”I could’ve stayed on assignment here. But the opportunity came up and- well, you know the rest,” _you were with me for the rest._

Matt leans back and rolls his neck along the plush back of the booth. His in his ’focus’ mode as Shiro recognizes. After the years of their friendship he can read Matt without words. ”So what I’m getting is... You want to let Keith in, but you don’t know how. To be honest Shiro, I love you man, but I would not know you like I do if we hadn’t been battle buddies. You, uh, no offense, don’t really know small talk.”

Matt grimaces, ”You’re a great leader, a kind man, and wonderful friend but... well. I think it’s too easy to see all of your composure? No... your presence? Er... You’re just so cool and confident on the outside that it can hide that underneath that you’re a regular person. Bravado can’t really account for making friendships or relationships.”

Matt takes a deep breath. ”You’re the most extroverted introvert I’ve ever met. And never change, ok? But... if you want Keith, y’know as something more, you’re gonna need to open up.”

Finally, Shiro gets the courage to ask what he’s been wanting to ask, been needing to ask, so desperately. He asks it accompanied with words he doesn’t say often. Words that sting on the tip of his tongue and ruffle his pride. ”How? I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Operation: Shiro Get Yo Man is a-go


	25. Chapter 25

If Shiro thought Matt were joking, he wouldn’t be thinking it now as he’s settles into the front desk where a folder marked with his name, and a note flagging it for high privacy is waiting for him. He’d wonder, nervously, about the security of leaving it around but it’s from Matt. And everyone knows to take him seriously. Society’s reliance on tech means the hospitals reliance on Matt. That is not a person anyone wants to get on the wrong side of. That and besides Matt will no doubt be monitoring the camera pointed directly at the folder.

It’s a crime no one will get away with for long.

You: Did you make me excel spreadsheets?

Matt: idk, omg. How do will know if you don’t open it?

Shiro opens it.

You: Did you make me excel spreadsheets?

Matt: Yeah.

Shiro closes it and shoves it to the other side of the desk so he can work on putting some patients’ charts together.

Matt: ShirOMG. All that hard work and you’re not even gonna look at them?

”Ah, Shiro, I have been meaning to see you,” Allura strolls over, the click of her pumps announcing her arrival.

”Doctor, how are you?”

She beams and her smile could power the whole city for weeks to come. The thing about Allura is that she’s just as kind as she is gorgeous. ”I am well, thank you! It’s nice to see you. Now, I wanted to formally invite you to the office Autumn party. I know they sent the email but I think it’s more polite to inform you personally.”

Allura explains that he’s welcome- no, encouraged- to bring a plus one.

Shiro wants to protest but there’s a glint in her eye; a glint that makes Shiro want to march to Matt’s office, if he can figure out where it is, and burst down the door. And.

Well.

He’s not sure.

Maybe steal his lunch or something.

”Thank you, Doctor.”

Matt: So I see Allura talked to you.

You: Matt

Matt: And?

You: Matt

Matt: ShirOMG

You: Hey what about you?

He waits for the reply. 5 minutes. 10 minutes.

Shiro waves to the camera, or at least where he thinks the camera’s at. Matt doesn’t respond for the rest of the shift.

Shiro does take the folder home but not before peeking inside first. He sees things like ”karaoke,” and, ”trivia.” On his way home he stops at the 24hour and picks up a couple of boardgames.

Keith is sprawled out on the couch, his shorter leg resting flat while his other is draped over the top. On the floor next to him are open envelopes and letters strewn about. Shiro tries not to pry as he cleans them up and neatly piles them on the table, but he notices the logo of the local community college on one.

”’Ro?” Keith says groggily.

Shiro turns around and his lungs are crushed and his heart stops.

Keith’s hair is ruffled. On his cheek is the bright red imprint of the fabric of the couch. His eyes are trying to focus as he raises his head with great effort. It’s like he has no neck, his head just kind of bobbles for a bit until he floos back down. ”Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

”Feelin’ ok?”

”Yeah?”

”Wanna play cards?”

They set it up on the living room table. It’s low-to-ground height makes it easier on Keith, whom moves it so he can resr his back against the couch. His pile of college letters are set to the courner far from their game.

They play Go Fish.

It’s pretty mundane but Shiro is having the time of his life. It’s nice just getting to sit down with Keith, no pressure for anything, just playing a game that has no tax on them.

Keith wins by a long shot. And he does so with a smack to Shiro’s shoulder and laughter that fills the room.

”I used to play that in the home-” he winces, ”I mean.. uh,” he pauses and runs a hand through his bangs, ”... so I’m... my parents are gone. They’ve been gone for- well, since I was 7. Don’t pity me though.”

Shiro leafs through the cards, ”No, I get it. My grandpa raised me. At least until he died.”

”What? You were in a home, too? How old were you?”

”I was- believe it or not- 7, too.”

”Oh.”

”Yeah, I stand by what I said. I think we have a lot more common than we realize.”

Keith stacks his cards neatly on the table. His expression is hard to read especially in the gentle darkness of late afternoon, early evening, of winter. Somehow light always seems to find Keith’s face as if light itself, as everything else, finds the man magnetizing. As one who regularly wants to cover him in kisses he envys the light that’s lain soft across cheeks and lips. But of all, Keith doesn’t seem to notice. Maybe for the best.

”I guess.”

Shiros breaks out Connect Four.

”This is so dumb!” Keith bursts into amiable laughter. ”What are we four?”

”No, only one of us will be. And that’s me!”

And it is dumb.

They have a blast.  
  


They play a few more games into the night. Shiro, of course, doesn’t get tired but Keith loses his energy after two more.

”Hey Keith, before you go to bed. The office- er, the hospital- has an autumn party. Would you like to come with?”

”Oh, sure.”


	26. Chapter 26

”Matt suggested I put on the radio,” he turns to Keith while cracking the eggs into a bowl. Keith is tying up his hair and donning his apron. They decided Keith would try and teach Shiro how to make breakfast.

”Hm?” Keith faces Shiro, hair tie tucked between his pink, plump lips, fingers gatherong his hair into a ponytail atop his head.

Shiro forgets his thoughts for a moment.

”Oh, uh, because. He says humans are social, blah blah, some science reference, that basically noise is good for us.”

Keith snorts.

”Don’t you dare say anything about my snoring,” Shiro wrinkles his nose to emphasis the scar that runs across it. There’s no harm meant by Keith so he takes the light banter for what it is.

Keith teaches him how to make scrambled eggs.

It’s a lot simpler than he figured though he can tell the real challenge will be in telling when they’re cooked enough. He takes a bite of Keith’s batch, which is golden and fully and hot and delicious. His own makes him gag while Keith makes a face.

Oops.

”We’ll... work on it,” Keith pats Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro makes the coffee and pops the bread into the toaster, letting Keith tend to the pancakes. He figures he’s made enough food mistakes for one day. And he’s genuinely hungry.

Keith’s pancakes definitely hit the spot.

”So, Keith, I know we talked about the office party. Are you still wanting to go?” Their plates are set aside on the table as they enjoy their coffee and chat.

”Yeah.”

”Glad to hear it. Now, I was wondering if you felt up to going and getting our outfits today?”

Keith looks at him confused, ”outfit?”

”Yeah, I mean, it’s business casual, don’t worry.” Maybe he’s a little too excited to see Keith dressed up.

”But I don’t- Shiro I can’t afford that. Can’t I just wear my best shirt and pants?”

Keith is a lot like Matt. They’re two attractive men who just don’t really know how to dress. While Keith fairs a little better, he doesn’t wear anything other than jeans.

”Keith, I invited you, it’s no problem. I’m not asking that of you.”

”That’s just it. Shiro, you’ve done nothing but... but not ask anything of me. You house me and feed me and I’m, well, I’m useless.”

”Keith...”

”No! Shiro, please. I’m sick of being so useless and draining you like this.”

It’s a conversation he knew would happen eventually.

”I keep expecting you to just... I don’t know, cash in on whatever favors I owe you by now.”

Shiro knows he doesn’t mean it _that_way but it still stings. ”You think that of me?”

Keith takes in a hissing breath. ”I- no, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean, you wouldn’t. Not you. But I can’t help but expect it.”

Shiro pauses and swallows. ”Keith, did... did something happen before? In the homes?”

Keith looks away and affirms the dropping feeling in Shiro’s stomach as being valid.

It’s going to take more than one conversation, and his words will need the time to ripen, for the matter to be smoothed over. As much as it can. Shiro reaches a hand to cover Keith’s. ”We can talk when you’re ready. I wish I could offer more than just words but know that I’m not asking anything of you. Seeing you everyday is more than I could ever want for.”

They’re at the department store.

Shiro has already picked out his outfit and is waiting outside the dressing room for Keith.

But Keith’s been in there awhile. And he’s starting to worry.

”Keith?” He calls softly to the closed door.

”This is stupid!”

”Keith, can I come in?”

”Whatever,” Keith barks, ”it’s unlocked.”

Shiro opens the door to find Keith sitting down on the chair in the courner.

”Why bother? I’m,” He waves down at the empty pantleg that resting on the stool. ”Shiro did you even see the price? It’s a waste on _this_. _On me_.”

He sighs. He gets it, he does. But it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating because he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. ”Keith, you’re missing a leg. I’m missing an arm. We’re not less for it.”

Keith grumbles.

”Let me help you, ok? I’d have given so much to have someone sit me down like this when I was so down. Keith, it got so dark. It’s... it’s still dark. Keith, I’d have done anything to stop from going the places I did. I’m not letting you spiral. And I’m not giving up on you, no matter how hard you push.” He pushes his bangs from his forehead. ”Unless you ask me to stop or go, I’m not going to leave you.”

Keith’s eyes are shining in the soft light of the dressing room. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come forth.

Shiro makes his way to his knees and grabs the empty leg of the slack and carefully rolls it up to the where Keith’s stump ends. He grabs a hair tie from his pocket, the same one he’d used to tie off his own shirt; he wanted to leave his prosthetic at home for the party. For himself. For Keith. ”There,” he ties off the leg and gently pats Keith’s thigh, ”you look perfect.”

Keith’s cheeks light aflame.

Shiro reaches a hand up to cup Keith’s face. He rubs a thumb gently along Keith’s skin. He feels a smile tug gentle at his lips and Keith returns it in kind.

”Thanks, Shiro.”

The moment they almost kissed plays across Shiro’s mind. It’s tempting. So tempting, to draw up so that he’s face-to-face with Keith. So tempting to tilt his head just so, just so that their faces could meet. So their lips could meet. Press. Soft and warm and-

”Of course, Keith,” he pats Keith’s cheeks and draws up to his feet. ”I’ll be outside when you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness your comments 😭♥️♥️♥️ thank you for being so patient with me! I’ll reply, I promise!


	27. Chapter 27

”Would it be giving up if I let them give me a chair?” Keith is watching out the window, elbow resting on the door, cheek in palm.

Shiro is quiet because he’s starting to get Keith and he knows there’s usually a lot the man wants to say past the initial raising of topic or posing of question. He taps the steering wheel as he waits for the light to turn green.

”I just- I’m sick of being tired, is all. Walking makes me tired. At least right now. I’m getting fitted soon anyways.”

Maybe one of the hardest things about disability is accepting the help, because it first means accepting the disability. For someone like Keith? Like him, even? It’s almost an admission of being unable to live independently, self-sufficiently. For people like them that’s maybe a big red stamp of condemnation upon their lives.

There’s no coming from back this.

No regrowing limbs.

No unmarring of flesh or bone or mind.

”I could do a lot more. And I wouldn’t slow you down as much.”

Shiro chances a look at Keith, a split second only since the light is bound to turn. ”You’re not a burden. I promise. But Keith, do what you think is best. There’s nothing weak about getting help when we need it. It’s strong of you to seek it, actually.”

”Yeah, I guess.”

”At worst, you get the chair and it sits in your room collecting laundry because you don’t feel like folding it.”

He sneaks another look because gentle laughter sounds sweet from Keith and Shiro refuses to miss the expression that goes with it.

A honk comes from the car behind them.

So much for a quick peek. But it was definitely worth it.

Home at last and shopping bags put away, the clothes hanging in their closests, and Keith settles into the couch to watch t.v. while Shiro clicks away at his laptop doing homework. A romantic comedy is playing.

”Hey Shiro, have you ever been in love?” Keith sounds small.

Shiro’s fingers instantly seize up, stilling over the keyboard. He doesn’t want to call forth the ghosts. He doesn’t want Keith to know there are any. But the man sounds so innocent and curious and, Shiro feels unable to deny him anything. Not even at the cost of digging up a grave.

”Yeah. A few times. But seriously? Marriage serious? Once.”

Keith’s eyebrows draw together and it looks like he’s in pain. From what Shiro can’t guess. ”What happened to her?”

Keith’s honesty, his lack of filter, is as refreshing as it is gutting.

”Adam, his name was Adam. And he...” Shiro pauses, ”He was murdered.”

All the colour drains from Keith’s face in that instant and he looks sickly and like. Like a corpse.

Shiro feels like the world around him is spinning. He can’t shake the memories of seeing Adam there lifeless.

”Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- Shiro, I’m sorry.”

He blinks once, maybe twice, and Keith is beside him with a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

_How’d he get there so fast?_

”Shiro. Shiro. Are you ok? Shiro!”

He hears Keith and wants desperately to come back, but.

Adam.

”Hey, keep breathing. Shiro?”

He’s being shaken now and it’s something for his mind to hold him to this place and time.

”Please.”

The word that falls upon him like a spell when it comes from Keith. It drips utter desperation.

Shiro inhales deep and loud and full and Keith fills his vision. And he’s warm and breathing and alive and, it’s Keith.

”Sorry, I- Don’t uh, usually talk about it. Him.”

Keith reaches behind Shiro’s head and yanks their foreheads together.

The moment before Shiro closes his eyeshe sees the falling of tears and open-mouthed gritting of teeth. Keith’s breath carresses him warm and soft. Proof the man is alive. His own tears leak hot down his cheeks.

He weeps, grounded by Keith.

”I told him about Adam.”

Matt and him are walking through the city centre where all the shops are. There are a few open-air booths and stalls in the middle of courtyard that’s surrounded by indoor shops. Their windows are all decorated for the upcoming holidays, their displays lit up by fairy lights. It’s easy to see the chill of the night from their breath.

It’s maybe a guilty pleasure but Shiro loves the holidays. The spirit of them can be so warm.

Maybe it’s just winter, though.

He enjoys the world being so quiet.

”Wait, you actually did?” Matt stops mid-step and spins to face Shiro. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his coat but the coat is being pulled wide and Shiro can guess their gesture.

”Not everything. Just- about him. That he’s gone.”

”Damn, dude. That’s not nothin’. How’d you even manage to get to that subject? You keep that locked away in the deepest, most guarded vault you have. There’s no accidental stumbling into it.”

He supposes it came out easier to Keith than it ever has. ”’don’ know. Just happened.” It’s too much to keep looking at Matt, seeing things be said in his eyes that Shiro feels in no way ready to hear.

”Uh-,” he draws the sound out, ”-huh. Ok. Fine. But how’d he take it?”

”As good as one can when a grown man weeps on you.”

”Shit, did you... Did it trigger you?”

”Yeah, kinda.”

”So how’d he handle that? I mean, that’s where we tend to lose people. It’s all glory and attractive uniforms until we’re curled up on the floor rocking like mad men. Though, maybe it’s easier since he gets it more than most civillians could.”

Shiro laughs. He’s not sure why; there’s nothing funny. Maybe it’s disbelief. ”He held me.”

Matt whistles and shakes his head, expression relaying how gobsmacked that made him. ”Oh, Shiro.”

They begin walking again. It helps to process thoughts when walking.

”I almost kissed him the other day.”

”Shit, no? Yes? Really?” Matt’s hand finally surfaces from beneath his coat, at least long enough to be able to smack Shiro in the chest with the back of it.

Shiro just chuckles.

”Damn, Papi. You’re a real tiger. And here I thought I’d have to force you two to even hang out,” he pauses, ”Well, wait. I take that back. I kind of did.”

Actually, Shiro had sought Keith out himself, but there’s no need to take Matt’s victory away from him. He’s doing all he can to help and he deserves to celebrate that. And maybe as much so as Shiro deserves to celebrate getting out of his comfort zone and not letting Keith slip away.

Progress is progress.

Conversation turns lighter as he’s able to get it focused on Matt and the man’s antics. While Shiro feels his thirties fast approaching, Matt still seems the man he was in college. In the best of ways. Shiro enjoys how young he gets to feel when they’re together.

”I met a woman named Romelle.”

”When you say met...”

”Oh my god, yes, we did actually meet. For like. A date. Y’know, like. Romantically.”

”Ok but did she know that?”

Matt gasps and bends down to scoop a glove full of snow into hands and shapes it then throws it at Shiro.

”Matt, I cannot believe you would attack a disabled man. In public no less. Wow.”

”Oh my god.”

Shiro bursts into laughter, clapping Matt hard against the back. ”You must atone for your sins. How about,” he looks around the centre square at the shops, there’s a classy pub that catches his eye, ”You get me some Irish coffee and we’ll call you squared away in the eyes of the Lord.”

”Oh my god.”

”Yeah, exactly.”

The pub ends up serving a mean Irish coffee and Shiro makes a mental note to take Keith there on the weekend. Matt talks about the family holiday plans; Katie will be coming home, which is exciting because she hasn’t been back for any of the breaks. Her and Hunk have worked straight through them, professor’s oversight or no. He tells Shiro to bring Keith to Holt Holiday party, ”Mom is dying to meet him!” Shiro promises to at least ask. He doesn’t want to volunteer the man for anything without talking to him first.

They do a little bit of shopping at the stalls because there’s really no need for the over-priced things in physical shops. The spirit of the holidays are the support of the Mom ’n Pop’s who sell their crafts and hand-made goods.

Shiro finds a deep red sweater that he has a feeling will compliment the light tan of Keith’s skin. Keith doesn’t own clothing that isn’t full of holes or is faded. And he’s never seen the man with anything warm; Keith just layers shirts.

The woman running the stall has a brilliant smile. ”Ah, who’s the lucky gal?”

Shiro sputters and denies the existance of said, ’lucky gal,’ and it’s not... not true. Keith is no gal. Though he’ll admit it now, in his head at least, that he’d love to sweep Keith off his feet, that’s something he’ll leave to holiday wishlist and expect only upon a miracle.

”Well, dear, my labour of love, to your love. Happy Christmas.”

Shiro doesn’t argue out of politeness.

He wants to get more things for Keith, but nothing else jumps out at the moment, so he’ll do some more shopping as it draws nearer. He wants Keith to have a lot of presents but he’ll need to reign it in so he doesn’t make Keith uncomfortable.

For Colleen he gets some ornaments make of cherry wood. The Holts always have a giant tree and it’a tradition that ornaments are given every year, opened on the first of December, so that the tree is filled with decoration.

For Katie and Hunk he wants to prepare a food care package filled with decadent chocolates, popcorns, and other sweets. The lemon drops he buys there are the first of what’s going to be a large basket.

There’s nothing he sees that he thinks would be good for Matt, but that’s just as well, because he likes teasing Matt on the surprise of it. Matt spends the whole month trying to drag out of Shiro any information, any hint, he can get. Matt is...

A kid at Christmas.

The only light in the house that greets him is the soft glow of the nightlight by the kitchen sink. Shiro bought it when Keith first moved in. It’s nill amongst the darkness and yet. Yet. Somehow it finds Keith and envelopes him in a soft, yellow-white halo. Keith is using the kitchen counter to bare his weight as he moves to the cabinet with their glasses.

Shiro watches, in guity silence as Keith fills his glass with some apple juice.

”Hey Keith,” he says after a while because it’s too invasive.

”Oh, hey, Shiro. How’d it go? How was Matt?”

”Oh, he’s good. Met someone. We got some shopping done.”

”You like the holidays, huh?”

He turns to Keith. Neither have made any move to turn the light on. Something about Keith makes Shiro just... lose all sense. And ability to move. Or think. ”You don’t?”

Keith shakes his head, at least that much Shiro can make out, and sets the now empty cup in the sink.

”Ok, fair enough. You ok, though? You’re not usually up so late.”

”Tomorrow.”

”Give me a little more to work with, babe.”

”My leg. I’m getting... fitted. I don’t want them touching me.”

”I’m sorry, Keith.”

”And, I mean. What if.. what if there’s not enough soft tissue or like- what if I’m not gonna get one? Or if I can even walk with it?”

There are many times where Shiro wishes he could will things a certain way and the world would follow. If he could only just say or think something and that’s how it was. Before Keith like this, this is where he really wants that kind of power. If he could swaddle Keith in comforting affirmations, that, yes, it would be ok. That he’d get his prosthetic and it would be like he never lost the leg, that he’d get it at all. That all the healing Keith needed to do was physical.

But all he can do is quietly step before Keith and hold him.

Shiro doesn’t trust that his voice won’t shake or that he won’t lie if only to bring Keith relief.

You: When do I tell him that it doesn’t get better?

Matt: What doesn’t?

You: Being alive

Matt: : (

You: I’m just so tired


	28. Chapter 28

The drive over sees Shiro with a knot tied in his stomach. The voices of the man on the radio, no matter how smooth the voice, does nothing but fade into the background of his thoughts. Which themselves are already set aside. Keith’s bouncing his leg and the fabric of his pants rubbing along the seat is loud. It does nothing for Shiro’s anxiety.

He can’t imagine what it’s doing for Keith.

They pull up into the parking lot and Shiro kills the engine. Neither of them move for a minute.

”C’mon, we’ll go together.” Shiro reaches over and squeezes Keith’s knee.

”Ok.” Keith looks down at the hand and places his own over it. It’s much smaller than Shiro’s but his grip is strong.

Shiro gets out of the car and retrieves the fold-up wheelchair from the back seat and helps Keith climb down and onto the chair.

”Want me to push you? I know you didn’t get sleep,” he hesitates whenever he proposes anything that might make Keith feel incapable. Keith tends to only accept help when absolutely cournered or out of options. The last thing Shiro wants is to hurt Keith.

”Ok,” he rasps and slumps into the chair, turning his head so that his chin tucks into his shoulder. His eyes close. He’s probably trying to nap, if even for just a few minutes.

Shiro tries to take it slow and go over the smoothest ground. For once, the building is an accessible one, one that keeps in mind some people might be using chairs or other mobility aids; it’s a smooth path inside.

”Baby, hey, wake up,” he nudges at Keith gently when they’ve made it to the floor of the appointment.

”’aby? You keep callin’ me that,” Keith mumbles with words that are thick in drowsiness. He rubs at his eyes and the gaze he sends Shiro is so tender, accompanying it with a soft smile. Then he realizes where they’re at and what they’re here for and the sweetness drains away from his face. The purple beneath his eyes is dark. His movements are slow. His hands are trembling in his lap as he fishes out his id and insurance cards from his wallet.

Shiro’s grip tightens around the handles of the chair.

He spaces out as Keith hands over the cards and signs in. Keith almost drops them when he goes to place them on the counter and picking them back up, after the receptionist lays them down on the counter, takes a few tries for him to nail the grip. The receptionist at least apologies for not just handing them to Keith.

Keith bats at Shiro’s hands, ”I got it,” and rolls himself over to the waiting area.

The magazines that are spread out on tables all show smiling, active amputtees. It’s nice to see but it’s also painful. He watches Keith gain sight of the cover one, which has a man dancing with a woman who has a prosthetic leg, and he scoffs and tucks into his phone.

”Mr. Kogane?” A nurse calls them back and she takes his vitals. Then she directs them to the doctor’s office. Inside there are posters that, again, try and show people leading successful lives despite the various hardware each one is sporting. It manages to be condescending. But then Shiro’s never liked things being sugarcoated. It feels disingenuous to the reality of living as an amputee, especially because the patients coming here are barely into their journey of healing and accepting what happened, accepting what’s gone. And judging by the way Keith is adamantly keeping his faze at his lap, Keith must feel equally as patronized.

”Dr. Ulaz?” Shiro can’t stop the words as he sees the doctor enter. He was the one who helped Shiro, and, as far as he’d known, some people were trying to chase him out of practice and country for him helping Shiro. Apparently, those people had ties to the group which had captured Shiro and Matt. It was so good to see the doctor.

”I am glad to see you looking well, Mr. Shirogane. Now, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kogane. I will be your doctor. As I’m sure you have been prepared, I will just run over this visit quickly. Today I will be evaluating how you’re healing, your suitability for prosthesis, and, if determined suitable, I will be taking a plaster cast of your leg so we may begin making yours.”

Ulaz begins asking Keith questions about his life before the loss. All the while he’s feeling around and on Keith’s stump, evaluating it.

It’s a good distraction for Keith to be talking, because he doesn’t push Ulaz away or make any movement that suggests he’s uncomfortable. Shiro knows how tender the skin can be and how disconcerting it is to have someone or something touching a place that the brain still doesn’t recognize as being cut off below.

He learns that Keith has always loved to run. Keith ran track in high school and even got into dancing. His activity only increased when he enlisted; he stayed in shape well beyond basic, and maintained his pt as if he were infantry in the Army.

Ulaz was happy to report that there was enough of the leg, and the tissues there, for them to get him a prosthetic. His history in sports and the military were only more support for the decision.

Ulaz measures and molds around Keith’s leg and this time he can tell Keith is fighting the urge to kick Ulaz away.

”Thank you, Mr. Kogane, it’s going to take a few weeks to make the prosthetic. Now, don’t feel bad if it isn’t perfect the first go-around. It’s integral the fit be just so, to avoid further damaging the rest of your leg, and allow you to keep a normal gait.”

Keith just nods but he doesn’t seem present. Which makes sense, because he falls asleep in the car on the ride home.

Shiro carries Keith in and tucks him into bed. No reason to wake the man, not after how draining the day had been. He brushes his knuckles light against the soft skin of Keith’s cheeks. Tucking the errant hair behind Keith’s ears, Shiro whispers to him, telling him to sleep well, and that Shiro would be in the living room if he needed him. Keith, of course, makes no sign of having heard Shiro.

”Hang in there. I’m not giving up on you, Keith.”

He swallows the itch to kiss Keith’s forehead and leaves the room, keeping the door open, and curls into the couch.

He dreams a dream where he’s slow dancing with Keith; prosthetic arm holding a small waist, and prosthetic leg bearing the weight for swaying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support! Rough go at things, but hopefully it’ll look up soon. <3


	29. Chapter 29

Shiro looks in the mirror, adjusting the roll of his sleeve around his stump and brushing down non-existent wrinkles in his dark purple button-down. He didn’t realize until now that his hair had grown so long; he pulls the long part at the top into a stubby ponytail that sits atop his head. Though he shaved just a few hours ago there’s already the beginnings of stubble. He rubs his chin and the short hairs prickle. Is he getting old? _Does Keith even like stubble_?

He watches his own eyes in the mirror. Somehow there’s a bit of life behind him that wasn’t there just a few short months ago.

Reaching into his top drawer he pulls out his favorite cologne; an expensive bottle he purchased in France that smells like woodland, warm spices, and petrichor. He dabs some behind his ears.

The radio is playing holiday music quietly in the background and the smell of freshly baking cookies wafts into the room. Keith wanted to make them when Shiro had suggested they leave early to pick up a tray from the grocery store.

He hasn’t seen Keith all dressed up yet and he’s trying to delay it. He’s starting to realize just how bad he has it for Keith.

When there’s no more to fuss over, or delay with, he heads into the kitchen.

Keith...

His hair is brushed back into a ponytail, shiny and looking soft. His black trousers are hugging every curve and it draws Shiro’s gaze down to his bottom. _Lord_. _It’s squeezabl_e and he wants to take a hand-full and- Keith turns around, ”Oh, hey Shiro.”

_Lord_. The outfit is just as trim from the front. Just as flattering.

Shiro chokes on air. ”H-hey.”

Keith’s eyes drop half-lidded, raking Shiro from top to bottom. It’s small and seemingly unconcious, but Shiro can see Keith bite his lip gently. And man if it’s not impossible to watch that plump bottom lip get drug through those fangs. And then Keith meets Shiro’s eyes and- oh. _Oh_. Those eyes look like bedroom eyes. The kind of eyes you see just before they close, for a kiss, or in pleasure.

Somehow, Shiro finds himself in front of Keith, hand on the side of the counter, arm blocking the man, _when did Keith back up against the counter_?, and he can feel Keith’s body heat. He gulps. He has to look down at Keith, and Keith has to look up at him.

Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulder and uses the leverage to get on his tiptoe. Shiro graciously follows the gesture, meeting Keith in the midde.

Keith’s breath ghosts hot along Shiro’s neck. At some point his head had tilted.

Shiro tilts his head the opposite way. 

He can just taste Keith, their faces are so close. Just as their about to kiss, or Shiro would like to think that’s what was happening, the timer for the cookies blares, causing them both to jump. Only, their bodies were so close that they crash into each other, and Shiro, mortified, has his interest rub against Keith. Though, less mortified, notices Keith’s in kind.

Shiro pulls away instantly with a cough and excuse about needing to go get his wallet. The wallet Keith no doubt felt, along with _other_ things.

He dashes into the bathroom and splashes his face with the coldest water the sink allows for.

_Fuck_. He squeezes his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his palm. He takes deep breaths, willing thoughts and feelings away, because they really do need to go, and his pants are just too tight to hide anything.

Keith, thankfully, seems to feel the same, because when Shiro enters the rolm again, Keith looks as if nothing had happened. Save for the sharp rise and fall of chest and his grip on things more erranous than usual.

The car ride over was fairly tense. Shiro found himself disappointed and relieved that Keith seemed just as intent on not talking about what happened in the kitchen. The radio played love songs, the host waxing about the cuddle weather, ”What with all this snow, stay inside folks! Snuggle up under a blanket beneath that mistletoe.”

”Do you want your chair?” Shiro climbs out of the car, grateful to have arrived.

”Nah,” Keith replies.

”Ok, but if that changes let me know. I can just come get it.”

The hotel where the party was set is a nice one. For better or worse, there’s money in healthcare. Well, at least in the Galra Family Hospital. It looks like no expense was spared and they haven’t made it inside yet.

One of the workers rushes out to meet them as they make their way from the car. She apologizes profusely, saying they had not informed her that a guest would need, and she paused, lowering her voice as if Keith couldn’t hear, ”... special care.”

Shiro keeps his cool only because he’s a former officer and he’s been trained to keep his bearings under pressure. ”Keith,” he makes a pointed gesture to the man, to make her acknowledge his presence, ”Is just fine, thank you. We have a chair in the car if he needs, so we have no need of your services, ma’m.” The word is practically spat from his tongue. He almost feels bad as the woman nods and cowers away, fast walking back inside the lobby. He would bet she didn’t mean it, that she didn’t know, but it still grates on him. He can’t even bear to look at Keith, knowing he won’t be able to handle the pain and shame on the man’s face.

”Shiro, you made it!” Allura beelines to Shiro, her hands extended to gently pat his cheeks before leaning up to kiss them. ”And who is this?” Her smile at Keith is soft.

Shiro appreciates that she’s not bringing up that he was a patient, or that she absolutely knows who he is. Though he supposes beinging Keith here and her discussing are both gross violations of policy.

Keith squints at her as if daring her to reveal the crack in her smile, and the crumble in her sincerity.

But neither happen.

There are few people alive as kind as Allura.

”’m Keith,” he leans on a crutch to free his grip from the other one, reaching his hand out to shake hers.

It sparks a light on her that warms the entire room.

”Pleasure to meet you, Keith. I’m Allura. I hope the both of you have a lovely evening, I have to attend to a matter, but I will be back to chat later.”

Keith watches her as she retreats through a small crowd of people. ”She’s... Really nice.”

”Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

Coworkers come up to him and chat now and again. It’s draining being around so many people, with music playing, and all manners of sensory distractions. Shiro’s glad that he has a good relationship with all these people, but he’s really more of a homebody.

He looks over at sees Keith chatting with Matt. Keith seems happy to engage; he’s sitting attentively, watching Matt gesture wildly, with rapture. Keith, Shiro decides, likes people. He’s just... awkward. And shy.

Shiro wishes he could trade Keith; give the man his social graces.

Keith so clearly looks happy to be outside the house.

”Hey baby, you want something to drink? I’m getting some champagne.”

Keith turns to Shiro, his smile and laughter still bright across his face, ”Sure. I’ll take one too.”

He already feels a warmth in his belly and there’s been no alcohol yet.  
  


”Oi, it’s Number One,” Coran beems at him, clapping him on the shoulder. The man calls him that because he’s the tallest in the office, and they’ve all been ranked by height. ”How’re you doin’, my boy?”

Shiro chuckles, ”Good. I’m just getting Keith and I some champagne.”

”Keith? Ah, is that that dashing lad you brought with you?”

He nods.

”I say, I haven’t you quite so lively in such a time. It’s refreshing! And he seems a good man.”

”He is.”

Coran just twirls his moustache, looking at Shiro with knowing eyes. He’s been something of a father figure to Shiro. He reaches over and grabs two flutes from the table and hands them Shiro.

”You should tell him, my boy.”

”I-”

”-Shiro. Don’t let him get away.”

”Thanks, Coran. I’ll try not to.”

Shiro watches Keith, the man is being so animated, moving his hands to talk, bursting into obnoxious laughter, and

And

Yeah. He might be in love.

”Here you go, sorry for the wait. Got caught up with talking to someone,” he holds out the hand with both flutes carefully balanced and held within the one.

Keith thanks him and gingerly pries it from Shiro’s fingers.

Matt is nowhere to be seen.

”You’re popular,” Keith smiles and sips on his champagne.

”I guess. I mean, I like everyone, I just. I don’t know.”

”Y’know, when I first met you, you seemed... Different. Like, you were everything I wish I were.”

”And then you realized you wanted to be nothing like me.”

”That’s not-”

”-Hey, hey, I’m kidding. I get what you’re saying. A lot of people tend to think I really like being in the spot light, or around people. But I’d rather be at home, with maybe one or two friends. I’m not sure you noticed but I’m not much of a talker.”

”There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t know why you feel the need to hide it.”

”You think I’m hiding?”

Keith reaches over and squeezes Shiro’s knee and then turns away, taking another sip.

The evening goes quick enough. Shiro talks to more people. Keith tries to talk to more people. Allura comes by and talks with the both of them.

The music gets slower and the dance floor starts to fill.

Shiro sees something come across Keith’s face. An almost wonder, and envy. He stands up and extends a hand down to Keith, ”May I have this dance?”

Keith blinks at the hand, his eyebrows furrowing. His voice sounds grated as it comes out, ”I think you’re forgetting something.”

”No, I know. I got it, don’t worry, I’ll just hold tight. Please?”

Keith hesitates before taking the hand and threading his arm through the cuff of one crutch until Shiro tells him he can leave it. He stumbles a little once on his foot, unsure of how to stand so that Shiro can compensate for the lack of crutches.

Shiro slowly, carefully guides Keith to where the others are. It’s awkward as they both try and figure out how to balance but once they’re out there they find a good stance. Shiro holds onto Keith’s waist, grateful for the power of muscles which are steadying Keith and helping him sway. Keith is clinging to Shiro, arms thrown wide around him, Shiro being much bigger, and he presses his cheek against Shiro’s chest, not tall enough to reach his shoulder.

”_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms_,” the song is soft and sweet. Like their swaying. Shiro feels the movement of Keith singing along quietly. He’s glad Keith can’t see his face right now.

”_When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath_,” He feels tears and he hates it. He doesn’t know Keith. Keith doesn’t know him. Or so it feels. And yet... yet...

”I don't deserve this,” Somehow, with Keith wrapped tight against him. Having inspired him to not feel the need to wear his prosthetic, not for others, not for their comfort.And the feeling of Keith’s leg, missing from the knee down, is pressing against him. Somehow...

”_You look perfect tonight_.”

He knows he’s fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been sitting on this scene for like a week! So happy to finally write it 😭♥️♥️♥️


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated. Please approach this chapter with caution if suicide or alcoholism are triggering.

Keith wakes up with gentle flutters in his stomach and the widest, stupidest, most involuntary grin. Still beneath the blanket of sleep, he has the vague memories of having dreamed Shiro had kissed him. Beneath the literal blanket, his toes are curled and he’s pulled the duvet over his head. Like a teenager with their first crush he kicks at the blanket and rolls from side-to-side, giddy beyond measure.

He knows to keep the display in when he’s around Shiro, but for now he’s alone and it’s ok. When wakefullness comes to get him from his dreams, the literal and metaphorical ones, then he’ll pack it all neatly away inside himself.

Throwing back the covers, he scoots on the bed until he can reach his crutches and leverages them to get him to his foot. His arms protest a little, being sore from yesterday, but there’s a pep in his step and the energy pulsing inside him tells him he’d rather stand than sit, so he decides to fore-go the chair for now. He picks out his clothes and makes his way back to the bed so he can change.

Turning the radio on from his phone, he makes his way to the kitchen, humming and singing along, as he plans out the day.

He wants to look more into college, so he figures he can call the schools and visit their websites. Matt had wanted to meet up for coffee later. The house needs some cleaning. And he wants to do some exercises.

He makes quick work of the kitchen; every dish is cleaned and put away, the counters are wipped down, the floor is mopped, and he burns a candle to bring a fresh scent to the room. It’s a bit of a workout itself, but he uses the counter to enable himself to hop around quicker.

When he’s done he allows himself a short break.

He maneuvers into one of the chairs and surveys his work.

It used to be that he cleaned out of obligation. He felt indebted to Shiro. Though he still does, it’s now less of a stale business transaction of and more the kind of appreciation for a friend. And the urge to tidy up a home, his home.

The walls are empty and there’s nothing to suggest the place is lived in. And when it’s clean it feels even more void.

You: Hey Matt?

Matt: Yo, m’bro, what doth thou require?

You: Would Shiro be mad if I decorated a bit? I could go over to the shelter and pick some things up from the donation bins.

Matt: Oh, I see. Well, he’s always been kinda... uh. Hm.

Matt: Plain.

Matt: But you know what? I think it’d be good for him. Would you like a ride there? I mean we could do it after coffee today.

You: I can take the bus.

Matt: Omfg, you two are gonna single-handedly de-root every one of my hairs. Like, the stress is gonna do my hair in.

Matt: er- out.

Matt: Keith, I’m gonna be at your place and you’re welcome to take the bus but know I am not leaving your place sans you. Soooooo...

You: Fine

Matt: Gucci

Matt: ; )c

Keith clicks his phone off and is taken aback by the reflection of a man smiling. It’s so foreign that it takes a few seconds to realize that it’s himself. He turns his phone over. ”Gross,” he laughs.

He collects his letter and brochures from the colleges and stacks them neatly on the table. There are so many options. He wittles the singular pile down by sorting them into university, college, and technical schools.

At technical school, he’d study to be a mechanic. It’s something he used to do when he was younger and his dad was alive. He could also study something to do with construction; he learned to tinker with things because the homes were often desolate and he’d do his best to fix them. Out of bordom. Out of a want to get on people’s good graces, maybe win some of the other kids over. It never worked. And he’d rather leave his past alone.

Besides that his shaking hands would make it difficult to sling a wrench or terminate wires.

He pushes the technical school stack out beyond his reach.

”Ugh,” He grunts, deciding the scope of the programs, fields, and schools would be something to finish tackling another day. At least he’d eliminated some.

Matt keeps fidgeting with things on the table; he moves the salt shaker a few times, can’t seem to place his napkin to his satisfaction, and his gaze doesn’t seem to land anywhere in particular.

Keith catches himself fiddling with a straw not knowing when he even grabbed the thing. But there are small shreds of its paper on the table. He attempts to still his hands but their shake won’t let go.

Matt swallows and it’s visibly laborous. ”Keith,” he says the name like he himself is also grounding into the situation, ”I know I shouldn’t ask this of you but you’re the closest to Shiro right now-”

”-But-”

”-No, Keith. Listen, I’m not mad about that. He’s my best friend, my battle buddy, even, and- he’s just, he’s a closed off man,” Matt takes a deep, likely steadying breath, his gaze falling to the table, ”and it’s not my place to tell his story. But I’m just worried about him right now. He’s keeping everything in and that’s gonna explode on him on day. And... I think that day is coming soon.”

Matt reaches a hand over and cups it around one of Keith’s. The sudden touch from someone he barely knows makes his fingers tingle but he’s almost certain, when he looks in Matt’s eyes, that was the intent, to get Keith’s full attention.

”We were taken prisoner in the war. The rest, as I said, is his story to tell. Butyou have to know where he’s coming from, how bad things were. Because that’s gonna tell us how bad things are gonna go. Keith, when we came back, and he found out Adam was murdered- he- Shiro, he attempted to kill himself. Downed a bottle of pills with some whiskey. I- thank God I went to check on him that day.”

The words sock him right in the gut and punch the air out of him. He’s glad they haven’t eaten yet or else he’d probably vomit.

”I didn’t know,” it’s all Keith can say, and it’s dumb and obvious and but he needs to say something, anything. He speaks to keep his head from swimming away.

”I feel like it’s horrible to ask of you, that this burden isn’t yours, but Keith- Oh Keith, I haven’t seen him smile like this in so long. He cares about you. So much. I don’t think I can get through to him in the ways you’re able to. Please, Keith, just watch over him, ok? Tell me if there’s something going on, something he’s saying or doing, and I’ll handle it from there. But I know I won’t hear it from him. That’s why he’s in so much pain, he refuses to talk.”

Words are stopped up in his throat like a train which has just hit a wall and it’s cars have piled up behind, on top, all around each other. He reaches for his glass of water, sticking the straw in, attempt one, two, three, and pulls it to himself, water and ice sloshing out the sides.

Shiro tried to kill himself.

What remains of Keith’s left leg burn at the seam of scars.

He tried to kill himself. Shiro tried to kill himself. And he might try again.

”Keith? This isn’t my place either. But don’t hold it in too. I- Listen, I heard about what happened to you out there. I think... if anyone would know what he’s dealing with, be able to comfort him, empathize with him, love him through it, it’d be you.”

It’s the first moment that Keith sees in Matt the soldier, the officer. It’s the smoothness of his face, the straightness of posture, and the confidence in gaze. Where Keith is someone who carries himself the same in uniform as out, he’s always surprised when he meets people who wear a different face. Not out of deception, but necessity. Duty.

”But anyway,” Matt’s face slips and he’s again the goofy man Keith knew him as, ”You, my friend, are talk of the hospital. That slow dance? Man!” Matt continues on and it’s contagious and Keith thinks that Matt knows that.

Matt, he decides, as the man takes him to the store to get some decorations, despite his protest, is a good friend.

You: Here’re those pictures

Matt: Oh my god, Keith, it looks great! Shiro’s gonna f l i p!!

You: uh??

Matt: Sorry, sarcasm. Forgot. Haha : D;;;

Matt: He’s gonna love it, Keith

Matt: <3

Keith is stretching when the door opens. Shiro doesn’t seem to notice Keith at first. He’s out-of-breath when he stumbles in, nose cherry red, and hair wind-swept, with snow flakes still un-melted coating the top of his head and shoulders. Keith finds himself just as breathless.

Shiro bends over to slip off his shoes and notices Keith. His eyes widen and then so does his smile.

”You sore, baby?” Shiro hangs his coat up and makes his way to Keith, getting down to the floor with him. He reaches a gloved hand out and gently rests it at the end of Keith’s stump.

Keith feels warmth spread a fire from head-to-toe, aware that his legs were spread wide for the stretch and that Shiro’s large hand is tender across what feels now as one of the most intimate places on his body. ”Uh,” he replies, voice just barely above his breath, ”I.. guess.”

Shiro chuckles and moves his hand up to squeeze Keith’s shoulder. ”I’ll start a warm bath for you, then give you a massage, if you want.”

”Ok,” he breathes out, eyes locked with Shiro’s.

”Want me to get your chair or do you wanna use your crutches?”

The word fall out of his mouth, ”Can you carry me?” It’s more pathetic than he’d like, than he’d meant, but it will get him in Shiro’s arms and that prospect supercedes anything else right then.

Shiro laughs warm and ruffles Keith’s hair. ”Ok, let me just get it started then.”

Keith watches Shiro as he retreats down the hall and to his bedroom. From the floor Shiro looks taller than he already looks and his body more massive and wow. The man is dizzying.

Shiro carries him to the bath and it’s wonderful.

The bath is hot and it’s soothing and as he’s relaxing, he can feel the weight of the day crash down upon him. And he knows it’s time.

They’re laying on Shiro’s bed. Shiro’s got Keith propped up on pillows and is making good on the promise of a massage.

”I lost it because I jumped on a bomb. I told people it was to save my buddies, but- but I think... I just... There was no reason for me to do it. But I did it anyway. They say I was trying to commit suicide. Maybe I was.”

Shiro jumps but only just. Then he’s back to smoothing oiled fingers into the tired flesh of Keith’s stump. He’s not meeting Keith’s eyes.

Keith swallows. He swallows tears. He swallows his fears for Shiro.

”They told me that I just didn’t value my life.”

Shiro looks up and tears are pouring down his cheeks silently. He gently eases Keith’s stump up and rests his cheeks down on it. His eyes squeeze shut and he turns to pepper kisses along the scars. He cradles the leg in his arms and weeps quietly over it.

Keith reaches down and combs Shiro’s hair with his fingers.

”I had nothing to live for. My parents are dead. I don’t have friends. I don’t even know why I was out there- I enlisted because I had nothing. I wanted to leave. I just needed to go somewhere. Anywhere.”

Shiro speaks finally and it’s so weak, ”And we did get that. We went anywhere.”

Keith stills.

”Keith, I’m glad you’re still here.”

It’s beautiful.

But as they come back into silence, Shiro moving on to massage Keith’s other leg, Keith feels the ticking of the bomb. Matt was right. Shiro won’t open up. Which just makes Keith scared that Shiro will have to detonate to get anything out. This one would take far more than just his leg.

”Did you decorate in here?”

Keith looks up from his book to see Shiro watching around the room thoughtfully. He pauses, waiting to see how Shiro is gonna take it.

”I’ve never been able to figure out how to do it. He said I was hopeless and I just came home one day and it was done,” he touches the curtains hanging over the kitchen window, ”It looks nice. Thank you, Keith.”

Shiro doesn’t look back at Keith, he just heads back to his bedroom.

You: : (

You: I think the decorations made it worse

”Happy Christmas!”

Keith blinks awake. Shiro’s standing in the doorframe, a present in his hands. Keith looks out the window and around the room to try and determine the time but it’s snowing and there’s no telling where the sun is in the sky behind the clouds.

Keith makes a noise of acknowledgement.

Shiro is grinning from ear-to-ear. He’s wrapped up cozily in a thick, gray wool sweater and his prosthetic is lit up green and red, the colors blinking below the surface like holiday lights. And- Is he really wearing a reindeer antler headband? His gray eyes are so bright.

”Happy Christmas,” Keith wiggles part way out of the covers and points to a present of his own in the courner, ”There’s yours.”

Shiro laughs. He hands Keith the present in his hands and then goes for the one Keith showed him. He settles down on the side of the bed.

”Thanks, baby. I’m gonna get coffee started.” He pats Keith’s leg and heads out of the room with present in tow.

Keith peels the off the bright, red paper slowly. He can’t remember the last time he’d gotten a present. When it’s all open, not a centimeter of paper torn, he lifts out the sweater inside. It’s a beautiful, vibrant shade of red. The fabric is soft. He quickly puts it on. It feels like... like the sweater one of his foster moms had. Which means it’s probably cashmere or some other type of expensive wool. He feels guilty. All Shiro got was a drawing Keith made of the man.

”Here you go,” Shiro’s in the door again, this time with two mugs. He walks over to Keith and hands him one. ”Man, I knew that would look great on you.”

”Thanks, Shiro. This is... thank you.”

Shiro beams, ”Thank you for the drawing. Your work is incredible. You really should consider submitting to museums.”

Keith grumbles about not being anywhere near that good but feels the compliment turn him to goo all the same.

”So, I was thinking, and just listen, ok? Ok. Listen. So, snowball fight?”

Keith raises an eyebrow and gestures with his freehand to his lap.

”No, wait. Let me finish. Ok, but what if we took out some chairs? I’d give you a bucket and fill it with snow.”

”So what you’re saying is,” Keith takes a long sip of coffee because he’s still just waking up and already he has to think about this, whatever this is, ”we sit and throw snowballs at each other.”

Shiro has the mind to flush at least.

Keith bursts into laughter, ”Let’s do it!”

It’s goes as ridiculous as he thought it was gonna be.

Keith throws a mean hook and it knocks Shiro off the chair, who then emerges from the snowpile and nails Keith. Keith falls and it’s so much deeper than they expected. Shiro plucks Keith from the snow. Keith manages to grab a handfull of snow as he’s being picked up, and shoves it down Shiro’s shirt. Which causes Shiro to yelp and drop Keith.

They’re both soaked and freezing by the time they make it inside.

There’s a moment, where they’re both standing in the kitchen, shedding their outer layers, where Keith stops and looks at Shiro. And Shiro stops and looks at Keith. They’re shivering and out of breath and sopping wet. Keith isn’t sure, he can’t be sure, he’s never sure with Shiro, not now, not yet. But he thinks the same thought is going through Shiro’s head.

It’s too risky. Keith knows if they bathe together then there won’t be any hiding his feelings for Shiro. He’s never seen Shiro naked, either.

Shiro chews his lip and the action draws Keith’s eyes; his plump lip being pulled into teeth, it’s too much. Keith looks away.

”How about you take the bath and I’ll get the shower,” Shiro offers.

”-But-”

”-No, I mean. The bath is gonna be more comfortable than the chair in the shower.” Shiro looks sheepish. He hasn’t made the shower accessible yet. But it feels more like Shiro is rambling.

”Ok.” Keith looks away and grabs his crutches to head to the bathroom in Shiro’s room. He’s disappointed and relieved.

They clean up, get warm, and ready to head over to the Holts for the Christmas party.

”Hey,” Matt greets them with a hug. ”Nice sweater, Keith.”

There’s no time to respond because some people Keith doesn’t know, but can guess are Matt’s parents, maybe a sibling, and friend, are surrounding the door. They’re a collection of chatter and laughter and smiles. They sweep Shiro into huge and pepper cheek kisses. When they see Keith, though, they quiet.

Keith feels the itch in his foot to turn and run, but Shiro rests a hand, large, strong, against the small of Keith’s back. It holds Keith there. Physically. Emotionally.

”This is Keith, everyone.”

The woman, who Keith thinks is Matt’s mom, looks at him with some type of recognition in her eyes and soft smile lines at the courner of her lids. She brings him into a hug. Followed by Probably-Matt’s-Father. Likely-Matt’s-Sister just punches him in the shoulder. The remaining man waves at him, though he looks like he wants to hug Keith too.

”Oh my god, let them inside, they’re probably freezing!” Matt ushers them away from the door.

Shiro lets Keith go first, his hand not quite leaving Keith’s back as Keith steps into the door, crutches making it so Shiro has to let him through first. But Keith gets the feeling Shiro would have walked in together otherwise; if his immediate return to Keith’s side is any indication.

”So, shortie here-” ”-Matt!-” ”-is Pidge. Her handsome friend here is Hunk. And these are my parents.”

”Nice to meet you,” Keith says quietly, hoping the attention on him will switch soon. It’s overwhelming having all sets of eyes on him. Especially when he sees Hunk and Pidge look down at his leg and then to each other.

Shiro, who likes attention even less, draws it from them by asking how Matt’s parents have been. It launches the small talk and the same comfortable energy fills the room.

Keith lets Shiro lead him to the couch. When conversation lulls a bit, Colleen, Matt’s mom, manages to lure Keith into the kitchen. Shiro asks if Keith would like some wine on the way there. Keith agrees for a glass and Shiro shoots him a thumbs-up.

”So, Keith, my boy, forgive my crassness but I must satisfy the curiosity,” Sam adjusts his glasses, ”How long have you been together?”

It’s met with several reactions. Pidge guffaws, the kind that involves kicking of feet and bending over while clutching the stomach. Hunk brings a hand to his mouth.Matt claps his dad on the back, ”Dad, I love you.”

”At least let him get his wine first,” Pidge says through the tail-end of chuckles.

”We’re not...” Keith taps his fingers on his thighs.

”Oh, oh dear - I assumed. I apologize.”

Matt snorts and sends Keith a look.

”It’s ok dad, they’re just like that. I can see why you’d think that.”

Keith presses his lips firm and sends Matt a look back. Though his, he’s hoping, is communicating that Matt needs to shut up.

”Think what? Who?” Shiro is back with two wine glasses. He places one on the table and then bends slightly over Keith, one hand holding the glass and the other hand reaching down to hold Keith at the small of his back. Keith feels the fire in his cheeks, knows they’re being watched, but Shiro’s looking at him so gently and the hand on him has his limbs feeling like jelly. He takes the offered glass into a shakey hand. Shiro holds it, steadying it and Keith’s hand, at least until Keith gets the bottom of the glass resting on his thigh. Keith is paralyzed beneath Shiro’s gaze.

Shiro breaks the moment, grabbing his own glass and sitting down next to Keith. If it affected the man any, Keith can’t see it.

Shiro asks Hunk and Pidge how school is going. Keith hears enough to know it’s going well for them but he can’t think of much anything while also thinking about kissing Shiro.

The smell of food really hits Keith, thankfully, when it’s done and ready to be served.

They all gather around a large dining room table. It’s spared no expense or decoration, from table cloths, to cloth napkins, to candles, and the bottles of wine. But with such a huge home, with high ceilings and impecable design, Keith isn’t too surprised.

As they’re eating and chatting, Keith notices that Shiro is eating less and drinking more.

On his fifth glass of wine, Shiro excuses himself to the bathroom.

Keith catches Matt’s gaze. Matt nods. Keith gets up to check on Shiro.

Through the bathroom door he can hear Shiro being sick.

”You ok?” Keith knocks.

”’m fine.” Shiro’s throat sounds raw.

”Can I come in?”

”I’m ok, Keith. I just drank too much. I’m almost out.” The toilet flushes and the sound of water and gurgling follows it. There’s noise of a wrapper, more water, and the scrubbing of brush to teeth. Shiro makes good on his word and exits promptly.

His face is pale and green beneath the skin, eyes are dull and unfocused, and he’s walking unbalanced.

Matt comes from behind the hall and leads them to a bedroom, ”He needs to lay down,” Matt says to Keith, helping Shiro carry himself down to a door at the end of the hall.

When they lower Shiro to the bed and cover him, the man is already asleep.

”You wanna come back? He should be ok now.”

Keith shakes his head. ”I’m gonna stay with him.”

Matt smiles and it’s sad. ”Hey Keith?”

”Mm?”

”You should tell him.”

”Tell him what?”

Matt leaves without answering the question.

Keith settles into an armchair by the bed and watches Shiro until he also succumbs to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re coming to the end, folks! There’s only one, -maybe-, two chapters after this. 
> 
> Stay strong.  
I know holidays can be rough, so I hope everyone is safe, loved, and has people or a person they can talk to.  
Suicide is never the answer, so please reach out! Don’t let things gut you and bleed you dry before you tend to your wounds.  
The next chapter is gonna get pretty rough but know this ends well.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a suicide attempt, light mentions of hospitals, specifically psych wards, and physical wounds.  
Please be safe and avoid triggers. A chapter summary is provided in the end notes.

”My prosthetic is in.” Keith leans against Shiro’s doorframe. He’d gotten the call and scrambled to get his crutches and make his way to Shiro’s room. Now he’s out of breath and his heart is pumping and his first thought was to go find Shiro.

Said man is little more than a bump in the blankets, despite it being past his usual wake up time.

Keith moves closer in the room. It’s still blank walls and no hint of someone living in it even though the rest of their house has finally started to show signs of residents. Using the wall, Keith eases down to his knees and crawls the rest of the way to Shiro.

He brushes Shiro’s bangs from the man’s forehead and lets his fingers gently run over the facial hair Shiro’s let grow in. Purple circles beneath closed eyes provide a shock to the ghastly pale skin of the rest of Shiro’s face. Shiro’s brows are pushing the skin between them together and wrinkles are creasing his forehead. He pretends not to smell the alcohol on Shiro’s breath, or see the empty bottle tucked in a courner on the floor on the other side of the bed.

Keith shakes Shiro gently.

Shiro’s eyes shoot open and he’s snatches Keith’s hands by the wrists in one hand of his own. He stares at Keith for a moment with no recognition in his eyes. Keith yelps but holds his position firmly.

”K-keith?” Shiro drops the hands like they’re searing his skin and then looks at his own hand, an expression of horror creeping on his face.

”Hey, hey- No, Shiro, it’s ok. I shouldn’t have woken you like that.” He reaches for Shiro’s hand and cups it, bringing it to his chest. ”If anyone gets it, it’s me. I’m sorry.”

Shiro looks at him eyes full of regret and fear. _Fear_, Keith thinks, _not of Keith, but of himself_. He sees the spiral happening and decides the best way to cut it off is to change the subject.

”My prosthetic is in,” he squeezes Shiro’s hand unconsciously, unsure why he never let it go, why he’s still pressing it against himself. _Unsure_, he’s pretending, knowing exactly why. His dreams have become so fevered and Shiro is in nearly every one. He needs Shiro. Anything the man can give him.

”Oh? Oh. Oh! Uhm, let me just- I’ll, uh, get dressed.” The smile that grows on Shiro’s face melts every bone inside Keith’s body. The smile is the one he’s only ever seen Shiro give to him.

He lets the heat of Shiro linger as he stays draped over the bed while Shiro changes.

”I’m really excited but also nervous. I mean. Ok, no. I’m not gonna think bad thoughts-” Keith blabbers, knowing he’s blabbering, but being unable to stop it, while Shiro patiently listens and hums his agreeance where appropriate. ”Shiro, I’m gonna be walking. I’m... I’m gonna be walking.”

”I’m so proud of you Keith. You’ve worked so hard.”

Keith, for what may be the first time in his life, doesn’t dodge the praise. ”Thank you.” He leans into it.

They arrive at the office and Keith is so antsy he nearly falls over getting out of the car because he misses the landing for one of the crutches. He laughs it off but Shiro still walks closely with his hand hovering over Keith’s lower back.

Keith has an even harder time getting his cards from his wallet. Excitement and nerves are pulsing wildly through him and getting his fingers to perform the fine motor skills required is difficult. But the receptionist is patient with him and hands over the cards directly back into his hands. He’s grateful for those small miracles.

After he gets his vitals taken, they’re directed to a different room. This one has a chair and a set of bars in front of it; not unlike the ones he saw during his physical therapy. The nurse instructs Keith to sit in the chair and that Dr. Ulaz will be in shortly.

Shiro pulls up a chair next to Keith. He still looks exhausted, but the joy is so evident in the way the courner of his eyes are crinkled with that smile.

”I know it’s gonna be awhile but, I can’t wait to run again. And dance. And not be confined to a chair or crutches.” Keith lets his head fall back and eyes close. ”I loved being in track. No matter how hard the day was I could always beat it into the pavement with the slap of my shoe. Every evening when it got dark outside, I’d lace up and jog around whichever neighborhood I was in at the time.”

He chuckles, ”It always freaked the families out at first. Good ones worried for my safety, bad ones just whispered about my sanity when they thought I couldn’t hear.”

He gives space for Shiro to say something and opens his eyes when the man doesn’t. But Shiro is just watching him. Shiro nods at Keith, somehow knowing he has more to say.

”I love the freedom of running. The wind on my face, the feeling of muscles pulling and working. Like I’m a machine.”

”Sounds like how it feels to ride.”

Keith pauses, remembering the face Shiro had whenever they rode. ”Yeah, I think it’s similar,” he pauses, ”maybe we should ride again.”

”Maybe,” Shiro’s face falls as he says it. The man hasn’t rode in months despite it so clearly being such a source of happiness.

Dr. Ulaz arrives and greets them. He takes a moment when he sees Shiro, his lips pressing thin, but whatever he’s thinking about Shiro he doesn’t say.

”Well, now, you look in good health, Mr. Kogane. I have my own little speech, the do’s and don’ts, the how’s snd why’s, et cetera, but I can see the anxiousness on your face. So I’ll go get the prosthetic and try and keep the speel brief, then.”

”It’s going to be an exercise in trust. Right now you’ve grown fairly accustomed to weight bearing all in your right leg. Not only does your mind have to adjust to sharing the weight again, but it has to trust this,” Ulaz taps the prosthetic, “to hold you up.”

_Trust_. That has never been Keith’s strong suit.

He stands up, and immediately notices that he’s using the rails to take the weight he isn’t giving his right leg. He shifts, slowly, tentatively to put some weight into his other leg.

Ulaz instructs him to walk forward a few steps.

”My knee is shaking,” Keith feels the leg and prosthetic wobble a bit. Ulaz assures him that it’s just from the disuse of the limb, and it’s nothing to worry about.

But he is worried. The wobbling isn’t helping him trust the prosthetic.

After a break, and some frustrated tears, Keith lets them put it back on him. He hadn’t been able to get the hang of rolling the sleeve yet.

He walks, slowly articulating the movements because Ulaz and the nurse are trying to inspect the fit.

At the end of it, his stump is sore, and he already wants to take it off. But Shiro leans in and tells him it’s normal and they’ll give him special gel to help with the chaffing. ”One day at a time, ok? Don’t rush it,” he promises Keith that he’ll help Keith out of it as soon as they get in the car.

Adjusting to the prosthetic becomes an ebb and flow of success and failure. One day it’s a full few hours of use, the next it’s a chair or crutches day. It’s time consuming. Thought consuming.

Shiro spends more time in bed. Keith hasn’t seen him leave for the gym in awhile. With Keith’s newfound mobility, Shiro doesn’t leave for the store either. He’s taking a semester off from school. The only times Shiro isn’t home is when he’s at work.

Keith hates being at home. He feels the ghost of shared laughter and late night discussions and tentative touches phase through him, leaving him chilled and empty. Emptier is the silence where once there Shiro’s voice. But he remains there, desperate in his attempts to shed the layer of death that’s come upon Shiro. No attempt to reach the man has proved fruitful. It’s no longer an if, but a when. Shiro’s going to kill himself.

The day it happens is an ordinary one. As ordinary as any one could be when you’re waiting for your best friend to finally snap, hoping against all hope that you’ll be there. Be there to talk him out of it. Or be there to stop it.

But Keith couldn’t have stayed around for every moment. Shiro had started locking his door. And Keith, he was terrified that prying at this point would have been the final straw for Shiro. So Keith went on with his life.

Notably, without Shiro, there wasn’t much to go on with. Or for.

Still he kept on.

The day it happens, Keith has bought the ingredients to make curry. It’s one of Shiro’s favorite dishes, the few he’d been able to remember eating as a kid, and found the recipe clipped into his grandfather’s notebook. The only keepsake Shiro had from any of his family.

Keith even buys flowers. He remembers how Shiro had loved the ones he’d brought home that one day so many lifetimes ago.

He gets home and walks into the usual silence. None of the lights are on, Shiro doesn’t leave his room so there’s no need for them to be. Keith notes the dust that’s accumulated on the picture frames he hung up. A picture of him and Shiro looks blurry beneath a thick layer of it. He makes a mental note to do cleaning tomorrow as he puts away the groceries.

The day it happens, Keith hears a guttural sob from Shiro’s room. Keith rushes as fast as he can, thankful he was wearing his prosthetic, to what turns out to be a scene his mind will replay over and over to him in the darkness.

Shiro’s room is open. And so are lacerations on his arms and legs.

Keith is frozen.

Dozens of bottles of beer lay empty and strewn about the room.

Keith is frozen.

In Shiro’s hand is a gun and it’s pointed under his chin and up.

Keith is frozen.

Shiro’s finger hovers over the trigger.

Keith is no longer frozen; he’s on Shiro in a second, the gun being wrestled out of his hands, but it goes off anyway.

Keith is frozen again.

Shiro’s staring at him wide.

Oh.

Keith sees blood streaming down his shirt. It’s... his.

His vision is fading but he can still see Shiro, the man is taking something out from his pocket, it’s hard to see, and- oh. Keith blinked and he must’ve lost some time. Shiro is gone. And then back. And now he’s holding something against Keith’s cheek and telling him to hold on. And oh, when were there other people in their home? Where’d Shiro go? He tries to ask but it feels funny to talk. He blinks again but doesn’t open his eyes back up.

When he wakes up, he finds Matt curled up in a chair next to him. He tries to move but winces when it ends up tugging on something. He’s hooked up to IVs, he realizes. His face feels strange. He reaches up a hand, movements much more careful this time, and his fingers land on gauze well before he expects them to land anywhere. There’s something on his face but he can’t quite figure out what. The noise he makes gets Matt’s attention.

”Keith? You’re awake. How’re you feel- Wait. Don’t talk. Sorry, I- Lack of sleep.”

Keith goes to protest but the fire that erupts along his face is proof he should have listened.

”Keith, please. A bullet nearly took your jaw off. Don’t talk, ok?” Matt scrubs at his face. ”Fuck, that was harsher than I meant- Look. Just, rough night, ya? Two of my friends are in the hospital, one of them is in a section where I can’t visit, the other is- Well, you’re here.”

Keith struggles to think of a way to let Matt know he understands. He ends up just giving a thumbs-up. Which, at least, gets Matt to snort.

”So...” Matt runs a hand through his hair, ”Thumbs up if you want your prognosis first, Thumbs sideways if you want Shiro’s. Thumbs down if you want mine. And flip me off if you just want me to shut the fuck up.”

Keith thinks about hearing on Shiro first, but then the fear of the answer makes him hold his thumb up.

”Yeah. That’s probably better. I will say at least that he’s alive, so. You at least know that.”

He gets off the chair, picks it up and places it closer to Keith. Now that he’s closer, Keith sees a dullness in the eyes and somewhat droopy lids. Matt looks like hell.

”So, the short of it is you were shot in the face. The bullet grazed your cheek. It’s a big, nasty gash, but luckily it didn’t take any teeth, bones, or tongue. You were in shock for some hours, on top of the blood loss and the pain, and that’s why you’ve been asleep until now. From here, it’s about to get rough because they need to put a feeding tube in. I’m sorry, Keith.”

Keith wants to chuckle humorlessly, but the pain medication is starting to wear off and he dares not disturb his cheek. He settles for an elongated exhale.

Matt takes hold of Keith’s hand, ”I want you to know that Shiro had freewill. Please, don’t blame yourself, ok? You did all you could. More than I could ever ask for. He held in this long because of you, and... and I think if he’d really intended to die, he would’ve just pulled that trigger right away.” He squeezes Keith’s hand before continuing.

”He’s in the psych ward right now. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m not kin, and he has no kin alive. He has my number memorized, so all I can hope is he’ll us soon, maybe a few days, when he’s stable.”

”I fucking hate goddamn psych wards. Those power-tripping motherfuckers... but I wanna hope it can do him good.”

Matt’s grip became iron on his hand. Keith raises his other hand and gives a thumbs up.

It makes Matt chuckle at least, ”Yeah I can only imagine all you’d say if you could talk right now.”

Matt smacks his own forehead, ”I cannot believe me, an IT person, has casually forgotten the benefits of technology. Here, hold up, let me see if they can get you your phone.” He leaves the room, muttering to himself.

Keith takes the moment to listen to hum of the room, the quiet, steady beeping of machines, the soft dripping sound of one of his IVs dispensing whichever liquid it’s dispensing. Keith notices they removed his prosthetic and all the socks. The sheets are scratchy against his stub and he’s itching to at least put his liner on.

Matt returns with a nurse who brings good news, that she can get him his phone, and bad, that they’re inserting the feeding tube. ”We want your face to remain as still as possible, at least for the time being.”

Getting the tube is not fun. He’s glad when they’re done.

You: I’m worried about Shiro. I can’t stop seeing his face when I’d come into the room. I couldn’t move. Despite all our training and I’ve done out on the field, for the first time since I was deployed,

You: I couldn’t move.

”Nothing could prepare you to see the man you love like that. Not when you’re in love with him. Keith, you moved when it counted, and-” he pauses, chewing his lip and refusing to meet Keith’s gaze, -even if you hadn’t. Nobody would’ve- could’ve- blamed you.”

You: He could’ve died.

”Yeah. Yeah, he could’ve.”

You: I’m gonna sleep some more.

”You did all you could and he’s alive. Remember that.”

Keith lets his eyes close and sleep claim him.

They release Keith after a few weeks they had to make sure he wouldn’t get infection and that the skin graft was healing well. The doctors took the graft from the thigh of his stump. It’s upsetting because the reasoning was the leg was already marred, and it was less likely to be seen. It’s upsetting because he can’t use his prosthetic until the site heals. The moisture from the socks and the chaffing that can occur made the doctors decide that Keith should hold off on using it for at least another few weeks.

Keith feels like there are now ghosts in the home he shares with Shiro, and he can’t face them. Not alone. But he doesn’t need to tell Matt that because Matt pulls up into the parking lot of their home and places a hand on Keith’s shoulder before Keith can get out of the car.

”Why don’t you stay with me? Until he gets out. I could use the company right now.”

Matt goes in with him to collect necessities.

The first time Shiro calls Keith, Keith is preempted with texts from Matt.

Matt: Hey loser

Matt: I’m gonna text you until you respond

Matt: Have your phone on you

Matt: Loser

You: oh my god

Matt: Oh there you are. Good. Answer your phone when it rings.

A minute passes. There’s a call from an unknown number. He answers.

”Hello?”

There’s a wet chuckle from the other end of the phone and he _recognizes_ that chuckle. His throat constricts and his hands are shaking and his legs are weak and a sob is ripped from him with no chance of stopping it, ”Shiro?”

”Keith, baby. It’s you.” Shiro sounds no better than Keith, voice raw and pushes through tears.

”Shiro.” He repeats the name a few times. It’s his anchor, his lifeline. He’s glad he was sitting down. He grabs tight onto the ledge of the desk he’s sat at.

”Baby, I’m- I didn’t mean to-”

”I know. I know, Shiro. It’s ok. I’m ok. Shiro,” he weeps, ”I love you.”

”-Keith-”

”-I love you so much. I miss you. God it’s so empty. Matt’s doing his best but it’s just quiet. It’s quiet because you’re not here. I miss your laughter and smile and when you sometimes come up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder or my back. And I miss eating dinner together. And just seeing you. I miss you coming in the door-”

”-I love you.”

Everything seems to stop for a moment.

”What?”

”I love you, Keith,” he chuckles, ”I love you. I’m sorry you had to hear it over a phone.”

Keith can’t find his voice.

”I’m getting out soon. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I- There was a lot to sort out. But we can talk about that in person. I have to go to group therapy now but I’ll call in the evening, ok? Keith, I love you. I’m so goddamn in love with you, baby. I know I have work to do, but please, please hold on.”

”I’m not giving up on you, Shiro. Ever. I love you. Come home, ok? I’ll cook you curry and set up candles and- just make it home ok?”

”I knew you were a hopeless romantic. Talk to you later, baby.”

”Bye, Shiro.”

You: Matt

You: o m f g

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally gets his prosthetic but Shiro is still slipping under. As Keith gains his independence, Shiro falls further. One day Keith comes home from grocery shopping and finds Shiro in the middle of a suicide attempt. Keith wrestles the gun from Shiro but it gets fired and hits Keith across the cheek. They both go to the hospital; Keith for the wound, Shiro for the suicide attempt. Matt supports them through it.  
One day, when Keith is home, he receives a call from Shiro, who is still in the hospital. Keith is so emotional to finally hear from Shiro, so much that he ends up confessing his feelings. Shiro, feeling nothing but the same as Keith, responds with his own confession.  
Shiro's coming home soon, and they'll have a lot to talk about when he gets there.
> 
> One more chapter guys! Thank you all so much for your support!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Little is referenced to the triggers of the past two chapters.

It doesn’t hit Shiro right away when sees Keith. His first thoughts are being free from locked spaces. His arms have healed, though the scars are still raised and pink, and when he hugs Keith, he can’t see them, they’re buried between the space their bodies meet. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like Keith’s grown so much. Keith’s standing there, free of mobility aides, and when he’d walked in it had been with a confident, balanced gait. There’s light behind Keith’s eyes, something Shiro had missed seeing. Something long missing from well before they both entered the hospital.

Shiro brings Keith out the hug, holding him at arm’s length. Keith’s hair is long enough for the smallest of braids, and one sits low on the back of his head. Across his cheek is a large, discolored scar. But the smile that tugs at it is warm and those lips draw him in. It’s starting to hit Shiro. But now is not the time or place.

Keith pushes off him gently with strong muscles, defined muscles. A quick sweeping gaze up and down and Shiro can see how much Keith has filled out. Form-hugging pants define the soft curves of powerful thigh and calf muscles. The red cashmere sweater no longer fits him loose but instead dips in and out biceps and shoulders across a broad chest.

Those lips. Plump, glistening, and kissable.

Keith pats Shiro’s cheek. ”C’mon, let’s get you home. Matt’s got the car waiting.”

Shiro walks out with Keith, hand at the dip of the man’s back. He breathes in the fresh, crisp air of spring.

He’s quiet on the drive but it’s not uncomfortable. Keith and Matt are having a hushed one-up-manship of who drives best in the snow. Beneath their amicable bickering is the hum of the radio playing soft tunes that Shiro can’t make out the words to. They seem more ambiance than lyrical anyway.

The trees are still blanketed in white but every now and again there’s a flower or two that have breached the surface, defiantly blossoming despite the dewy frost on their petals.

They arrive at home and Matt wishes them well. He makes Shiro promise to meet him up for coffee by the weekend so they can catch up.

Matt drives off.

Shiro and Keith pause in front of their door.

”Matt let me stay with him as soon as I got out. So, I haven’t really been back here.” Keith says barely above a whisper.

”Is it bad that I don’t want to go inside?” Shiro doesn’t break his gaze away from the door. He feels a hand, Keith’s, interlace with his own.

The doorknob is frosty, and snow is piled at the base of the door. The windows have nothing to show but a dark interior.

”I’m here, Shiro. If we need to get a hotel or go to Matt’s, I’ll follow you wherever you need.”

Shiro squeezes the hand in his and lets it drop so he can unlock the door.

The air the rushes out when it’s open is colder than that outside.

”Well, the heating bill must be great right now.”

Keith goes before Shiro and turns on all the lights and the heater. ”Wait there,” he calls out from Shiro’s bedroom, ”the heat is gonna take awhile to reach back here,” and returns with blankets and pillows.

Shiro marvels at how quick and graceful Keith is walking and says as much.

Keith grins. ”I’ve been working hard. Getting those, oh my god what does Matt call it?”

”Sick gains?”

”Yes, the sick gains.”

They burst into laughter and it fills the room and the kitchen and the halls and seeps through Shiro’s chest.

Keith lays the blankets and pillows on the couch and starts on making coffee. Thankfully, they had an unopen bag of the cheaper, long-shelf-life kind. Shiro doesn’t say it, and Keith doesn’t, but getting to share a cup of coffee with each other again is a joy that supersedes the quality of the cup. Which is bold from Shiro, an admitting coffee snob.

Shiro watches Keith from the back of the couch. Those pants that had him in such a fuss earlier are cupping Keith’s perfect, shapely backside.

It finally hits him.

They’re alone and in love and Shiro is off the couch and pressing behind Keith, his front flush with Keith’s back, and Keith’s being trapped against the counter and it’s probably not the time but, ”Keith,” he groans. He’s wanted Keith for so long.

”Shiro,” Keith rasps, and God it’s that sickening honeyed-rasp that sounds like Keith’s had his throat shredded but sweet honey was poured down it thick. Keith presses back against Shiro.

Shiro leans over, mouth to the courner of the cuff of Keith’s ear, and he breathes out heavy before speaking, ”Keith,” he begins, hands landing themselves atop Keith’s thighs, ”I want you so bad,” he squeezes and it draws a low groan from Keith, ”But only if you want me, too, baby.” He needs to give Keith a chance to walk away. He knows it may not be the best time. But he also knows that maybe, possibly, it is. Maybe there isn’t a time better than now to learn what Keith feels like.

Keith exhales audibly, shakily. He turns in Shiro’s grip. It pulls a mutual groan from them when their heat rubs against each other’s body. Keith drapes his arms around Shiro’s neck, his eyes already glassy, unfocused, and half-lidded. His lips are parted and head tilting. He looks a mess, like Shiro’s brought him over the edge, and they haven’t even kissed.

Shiro takes just a moment to record this picture of Keith, so open, desperate, and trusting.

”Take me,” Keith speaks breathless.

Entrusting.

Shiro crashes his lips down upon Keith’s and thunder strikes out from where they meet and flashes pulses of white hot electricity through his veins and nerves. He moves his lips roughly, dragging them heavy across Keith’s, and there’s tongues and clicking of teeth, and pure necessity in their movement. Hot. Wet. Their sounds are lewd even in Shiro’s own ears.

They part, a line of spit connects them as they do.

Keith looks wrecked. His eyes are ever more lidded, more bedroom. His lips are kiss bruised and swollen. His bangs are already mussed against his forehead.

”Takashi,” his voice is raw, ”take me.”

Shiro bucks his hips against Keith. The friction is maddeningly delicious and maddeningly not enough.

”Grab on,” he grabs Keith from beneath the thighs and hoists the man up. Keith holds tight around Shiro’s neck and crosses his legs against Shiro’s back. The prosthetic digs in and somehow the pain feels good.

He carries Keith to the couch and lowers him, planting a leg on either side of Keith’s hips, and hands near Keith’s shoulders. He leans down and sweeps Keith into more desperate kisses, and separates only when it’s too hard to breathe through his nose.

He pulls back but only so.

Keith looks at him, dazed and flushed. Many times smaller than Shiro, even with the new muscles.

”You’re so beautiful,” Shiro breathes out in wonder.

Keith bites his lip and looks away.

”Look at me.”

Keith does.

Shiro wants to choke on realizing the power he has right now. He could crush Keith. He could control Keith. He’s the reason for the marring of Keith’s face. But Keith? He’s lying beneath Shiro, vulnerable. Trusting. He doesn’t see, nor has ever seen Shiro as a monster.

”So beautiful.”

Keith doesn’t look away this time.

Shiro moves his hands beneath the fabric of Keith’s sweater and shirt. The skin beneath is so smooth and hot to the touch. He drags his palms up, delighted in how the clothing reveals gorgeous tan skin, and delighted in the arching Keith’s back does.

Keith raises his hands and lets the clothes be slid off him.

Shiro bends down to kiss and bite and suck from neck to collarbone to breasts and nipples. Keith’s fingers dig into Shiro’s forearms as the man grazes teeth down his hardening nipples.

”Takashi.”

Shiro licks each peek in apology and admire how red, puffy, and shiny with spit they are when he’s done.

He works his lips down tight abs and dips his tongue into a bellybutton and nips at the skin of hipbones.

”Keith, baby. Are you sure?” He pauses.

Keith nods his head until he realizes Shiro isn’t going to continue without words. ”I want you inside me.”

Shiro buries a smile by turning his lips to press against the soft down of Keith’s happy trail. ”Yes, sir,” he lifts his head enough to lock gaze with Keith as he unbuttons, unzips, and removes Keith’s pants.

He mouths at Keith through his boxers and drinks in the soft sounds Keith is making. Keith is proving to be a quiet lover and something about it spreads fire through Shiro, a desperate need to pull noises from Keith.

He removes Keith’s boxers and tends to the man with his mouth. It earns him fingers wound in his hair tight and trembling. Still Keith is quiet.

A little frustrated, Shiro lets Keith go with a loud pop and buries his nose in Keith’s happy trail, inhaling the familiar and calming scent of Keith’s soap and new, unfamiliar, and fever-inducing aroma of Keith’s body in arousal.

He has an idea.

”Keith, watch me, baby.”

Keith’s eyes open and find his. Fuck, he’s so wrecked.

Shiro leaves kisses along a hip bone, trails over the top of a thigh and down towards the inside, all while holding Keith’s gaze. ”Good boy, don’t close your eyes now.” He scoops his hands beneath Keith’s thighs and shifts the man so that his legs are spread and knees are resting on himself. He sees Keith choke on a breath, realization seeming to dawn on him as Shiro places a kiss on either cheek. ”This ok, baby?”

Keith whines and tosses his head back, ”Takashi,” his hands fly up to Shiro’s shoulders and nails dig in deep, biting through Shiro’s skin.

”Answer me, Keith.”

”Yes. Takashi, _please_,” his voice shatters on the final word.

Shiro draws out an audible moan from Keith when his tongue laps wet and tentative at him. It’s downhill from there; he licks and kisses and dips his tongue in and grazes teeth and pries him open and Keith is nothing more than a mess of babbling and moans and fingers tugging at hair to keep Shiro where he needs him, hips twitching to chase Shiro’s mouth when he does move away. It’s music in Shiro’s ears and he’d eat Keith to the blissful edge if not for his own need throbbing painfully and Keith’s desperate cries to be filled earlier. He pulls away but only for the promise of being in Keith.

”Keith?” He gently eases Keith’s hips back down and cups Keith’s face. The adrenaline and desire is flooded in him but this moment asks for something more. ”Are you sure?”

Keith seems to pause, searching for something in Shiro’s face. And a smile blossoms, if one a bit dazed, from cheek to cheek. He reaches a hand up and takes Shiro’s face in his palm, ”It’s good to have you back.”

It catches Shiro off-guard. It’s not what he expected. He soaks in the naked love so plainly broadcasted on Keith’s face. Keith is looking at him like he’s the only thing in the universe. He responds with a chuckle, ”It’s good to be back.”

Keith chuckles in kind. ”Take me, you oaf.”

”With pleasure.”

Shiro makes quick work of his own clothing and the clarity melts again from Keith’s face when Shiro’s above him completely nude.

”Fuck,” Keith curses, ”you’re...”

”Abnormally big? Large? Huge?”

”Shut up. But yes.”

Shiro winks. ”Don’t worry, I’ll prep you good,” he bends down to kiss Keith, ”Be back,” and goes to get some lube and condoms.

He returns to Keith gently stroking himself and Shiro almost chokes at the sight.

He works Keith loose, probably looser than he needs to, because Keith is huffing and pleading for Shiro to get on with it. But self-aggrandization aside, Shiro knows that he really is actually _that_ big and Keith is tight right now, not for lack of interest. He knows it was the right choose when he finally lines up and enters and it’s only the head but Keith is clawing at Shiro’s back. It’s agonizing to be partly in Keith, but he’s nothing but patient and he’ll only have a good time if Keith does. It takes some kissing and heavy petting Keith back to fullness but soon enough Shiro’s able to push in and cry out from how good Keith feels.

No.

How good it feels to be in _Keith._

He’s in _Keith. _

He doesn’t last long but he savors each thrust and the softness and the warmth and just that _it’s Keith_. And Keith releases first and it’s so _tight_ and _warm ,_ and Shiro spills hot and violent into the tip of the condom.

They groan as he pulls out.

”Fuck,” Shiro chuckles as he carefully rolls the condom off and ties it off, dumping it into the small waste can at the end of the couch.

Keith chuckles only weaker. He’s boneless on the couch, his own mess coating his stomach. His hair is sticking up in all directions, having been pulled on by the couch as he slid along it. His bangs are drenched and stuck across his forehead. His chest still heaving.

_God_, Shiro takes in what’s the most gorgeous sight he’s ever been privy to see, _He’s so fucking wrecked._

They remember the coffee that was put on something of an hour or more ago and Shiro rushes into the kitchen to turn it off, the coffee smelling pungently of being burned.

They showered after going another round; Keith got to finger Shiro while blowing him and, to Shiro’s painful delight, let Shiro fuck his mouth. He even swallowed when Shiro exploded in him. Now, truly, Shiro can affirm that, yes, Keith’s rasp is near exactly how he sounds after gurgling some cock. Only it did sound slightly sexier after actually doing that. But Shiro may have been biased having been the one to work it so raw.

Keith had flushed when Shiro told him as much.

”Keith, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we move?” Shiro runs his hands through Keith’s hair, the man resting on his chest.

Keith hums in question and Shiro can feel the vibrations on his naked skin.

”I mean, I feel bad that you’re in the spare room.”

”Oh, yeah, I guess I could get my own.”

Shiro chuckles, ”I was thinking you could move into a room with me.”

”Oh.”

”I... Think it’ll be good to start new, too. There’re a lot of memories here. Not all good.”

”We should get a dog. A big, fluffy one.”

”I like that. Maybe we should buy instead of renting. That way we can fix it however we like.”

”We’ll decorate it together.”

”Oh God, Keith I’ll ruin it-”

”-That’s why I’ll be there.”

”No getting out of it, huh?”

Keith raises his head and peppers kisses along Shiro’s jaw. ”Not a chance.”

Keith starts drawing meaningless patters with gentle fingertips along Shiro’s chest. ”Let’s get a fresh start.”

They choose a house with a porch and a yard and a picket fence.

”You two are nauseating,” Matt tells them at their house warming party. He pets their big, fluffy dog all the same.

Keith decides to go to college for interior decorating.

Shiro, on good terms, leaves his job and school to go back to flying planes. Only this time, it’s for civilians. His former Drill Sergeant, Drill Sergeant Iverson, has opened up a flight school on the civilian side and he takes Shiro on his team the second the man approaches him with his application.

Hunk and Pidge graduate with honors. What had got them into grad school was their making of Shiro’s arm. What graduates them is their more complex model, Keith’s leg. Where they’d laid the groundwork for the design and function in Shiro’s arm, they worked it for the more complicated functionality required of a leg. It’s just as sleek and beautiful as Shiro’s, and it’s the best birthday present Keith could ask for.

Shiro, knowing Keith is a hopeless romantic, takes him to Italy. He shows the man all the places he went, or tries to, because business is always changing in big cities. Then he takes Keith to Paris and it’s cliché and dumb but Keith falls apart as Shiro gets on a knee and takes out the small, black ring box.

It’s a yes.

They marry two times; one is a large ceremony because the two are well-loved and Matt demands they have a traditional wedding. He knows them too well, that, secretly, a formal ceremony has been their dreams. And a second, intimate one, with just their friends and friends’ immediate families.

Both times are beautiful and reduce them to messes.

Shiro wakes up every morning thankful. He knows that wherever life takes them, they’ll get there together. No matter how long it takes them, or what detours they must take, however they must walk, they’ll take each day step by step.

“Keith?” He whispers against Keith’s neck.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Keith chuckles.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one:
> 
> Absolutely no one:
> 
> Not a single, gottdamn person:
> 
> Me: What if this ended cheesy?
> 
> \----  
Thank you all for joining me in this journey! 
> 
> I set out to challenge myself to write at least 500 words every day for a month, and I just about did that. 
> 
> I'm so critical of my writing, knowing that it's still very amateur, but not knowing how to fix it, so I often just don't write out of embarrassment. I wanted to challenge myself to write for the sake of writing. Which meant writing and publishing, no looking back, no self-doubt or disdain. 
> 
> I'm pretty proud of this, for all the mess it is. And I'm so thankful for all of you who read this and commented, and supported me in the journey. I hope that this story has something it gave you, something that can live on beyond the story. That's all we can hope as writers. 
> 
> If you have any feedback on how to improve my writing, it's always appreciated! I wanted this piece to be just about the joy of putting words to (virtual) paper but I want to take what I can learn from this into future works.
> 
> Thank you again!  
I love you!  
Feel free to scream at me on tumblr: crispy-leaf-keith (but heading into my winter name soon, marshmallow-fireside-keith) <3


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